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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679028">Peter is a [Genius Playboy Superhero] Orphan</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishychiminie/pseuds/squishychiminie'>squishychiminie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Abuse, Alexo Peter fic ao3, BAMF Michelle Jones, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BAMF Ned Leeds, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Wade Wilson, Bruce Banner &amp; Tony Stark Friendship, Bruce Banner Is a Good Bro, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Deadpool being Deadpool, Drunk Peter Parker, F/M, Flash Thompson Being A Jerk, Flash Thompson Bullies Peter Parker, Flash Thompson Redemption, Harrys a dick but what’s new, Hurt Michelle Jones, Hurt Peter Parker, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Jealous Peter Parker, Karen Page Knows Matt is Daredevil, Language, Michelle Jones Is a Good Bro, Ned Leeds is a Good Bro, OOC Peter Parker, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Out of Character Michelle Jones, Out of Character Peter Parker, Peter Parker Meets the Avengers, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter is a genius, Peter is rich, Peter owns a business, Peter owns a company, Playboy Peter Parker, Protective Matt Murdock, Protective Michelle Jones, Protective Ned Leeds, Protective Tony Stark, Protective Wade Wilson, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony Stark Has Issues, Wade Wilson Needs A Hug, Wade Wilson is a Good Bro, Worried Ned Leeds, maybe? Idk he’s a dick but MAYBE, peter partys hardy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:54:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>81,272</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679028</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishychiminie/pseuds/squishychiminie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“I might as well tell you what I see, based on the psych books you’ve read, before you tell me your point of view,” he snarks. “I see an orphan who’s trying to forget. To forget his dead girlfriend, his parents, his aunt and uncle, and the guilt on his shoulders that he won’t address. And so, he lashes out, and he does drugs, and he drinks, and he can’t identify his own emotions anymore because he’s been pushing them down for too long. He’s reckless with his own safety at night, and he’s reckless with how he treats his body, because at this point he’s practically given up. He doesn’t care if he lives or dies. He doesn’t try in school, because he’s bored. He knows just about everything when it comes to the real world, and he knows everything high school has to offer, but won’t apply himself to a university because he’s scared. He says he’s going to change, but he never does, because forgetting is easy. And so he’ll do anything to forget.”<br/>—excerpt chapter 22</p><p>Disclaimer: Mentions of (at some point in passing) drugs, alcohol, depression, bullying, abuse, sex, blood, murder, suicidal thoughts/ tendencies, loss of a loved one, etc.</p><p>description change on 03/03/2021</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Michelle Jones/ Harry Osborn, Ned Leeds/ Betty Brant, Peter Parker &amp; Matt Murdock, Peter Parker &amp; Michelle Jones, Peter Parker &amp; Ned Leeds, Peter Parker &amp; The Avengers, Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark, Peter Parker &amp; Wade Wilson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>856</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Heya! Idk where this came from, but apparently I’m writing it lol. I’ll post the first chapter (aka this lmao) and if I decide to keep going, I will! Lmk what you think and if I should continue the story or keep it as a lil one shot/ cannon/ idea-type-thing &gt;.&lt;</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>People at school noticed Peter’s change in appearance and personality after break, and they also knew that Gwen Stacy had lost her life. Apparently, in the cross fires of a fight on the outskirts of New York City. Anything other than that was confidential, and a mystery to Midtown and the rest of anyone who knew of the police in cheif’s only daughter. Ms. Stacy left the city after losing everything. Of course, people had questions. And they could only think of one person to ask. But, when Peter Parker returned to Midtown High, nobody felt like getting them answered. It was obvious he wasn’t doing well. He was different. Anyone who’s anyone knows about Parker’s luck, and how he seems to lose someone close to him every year. Only this time, he lost someone close to everyone else too.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Gwen Stacy.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Her name rang in the mind of every student and teacher since they heard the news over break, and echoed even as they walked the halls on their first day back to school. It was heart wrenching to see the empty seat she once occupied.</em>
</p><p>~</p><p> </p><p><em>“Rise and shine, Peter. It’s currently 7:35 in the morning and a sunny 68 degrees outside. You have approximately forty-five minutes to be up and ready for school.”</em> Peter’s personalized AI, Karen, lightened the tint on the windows to let the morning sun in, effectively waking her creator up.</p><p>And with a groan, the teenager slowly started getting ready for a (probably) terrible day at school.</p><p>Peter was dreading going back. Freshman year, he lost Uncle Ben. Sophomore year, it was Aunt may. And now he’s seventeen, with another death under his belt. He had nobody. It’s been close to two months. He spent the whole of his summer fighting bad guys and getting drunk after patrol to die down the physical and <em>emotional</em> pain. But if you ask Peter, he’s fine.</p><p>Except for right now, because his nightly adventures include last night, and he now has a splitting headache with a hint of bile in the back of his throat— not to mention the few cuts and bruises that are left over after his hearing factor. After picking out some clothes, he heads to the bathroom as he is in desperate need of a shower. Looking in the mirror as he brushes his teeth, he knows he doesn’t look good. The bags under his eyes and the sickly color to his skin is a <em>clear</em> indication. He’s hungover and so so tired.</p><p>It’s difficult living on his own. It’s lonely.</p><p>After the passing of his beloved Aunt May, Peter was so utterly lost. But, he knew he didn’t want to go into foster care. Not another set of parents. He has bad luck with those apparently. A curse, maybe. The foster system was also known for being terrible, and he wanted nothing to do with it. So, he did anything a logical sixteen year old orphan would do.</p><p>He forged some documents. It was easy in his opinion, if not unnerving. Peter now lives <em>officially</em> with a distant relative named Angela Rodriguez, in a small apartment close to his school, Midtown High of Science and Technology.</p><p>Unofficially, he lives in a modern and high-tech penthouse in Manhattan. See, Peter Parker is something of a genius. He’s always been ridiculously smart, smart enough to go to college years before now. But he and May could never afford to send him to one. Which was fine. Peter enjoyed school with Ned Leeds and Michelle Jones— and.. <em>others</em>.</p><p>But after May, he had to make a living for himself. Worried about the CPS and the constant anxiety that someone may look into his cousin, Angela, and find she doesn’t really exist, always pricks at the back of Peter’s mind. He knows he’s committing a crime. So a typical part-time job for a teenager was out of the question. It wouldn’t make ends meet anyway. Instead, Peter dived into his savings.</p><p>It was originally for college. After Ben died, Peter started selling some of his inventions. He’s built projects in his free-time using school supplies through the years. Considering they were never recorded, he didn’t have to worry about anything being tracked back to him. And they sold for a <em>lot</em>. Of course, the school’s technology in itself he used was nothing short of mediocre, but with some coding and upgrading he could turn anything less than extraordinary into exactly that. Peter never told May what he was doing. She didn’t like him worrying about money, and especially wouldn’t like him selling his self-defense technology and biochemistry inventions under the radar to anyone who would take it. it was never anything dangerous, and he never caught the eye of any scientists in the field (thank god), but nevertheless, it happened.</p><p>And thank god it did. He used the money to buy a dingy apartment (or rather, ‘Angela Rodriguez’ did). From there, his small underground business grew. He was able to afford better quality materials, and sell them for even better prices. He got a few patents. He operated under an alias, <em>Silver Alkyon.</em> And through Spider-Man, Peter made good friends in Matt Murdock and Wade Wilson. Seeing as he was too young to own a company, and needed to stay under the radar, Matt is the face of the business— and that’s about it. Now owning a small building as well, Peter has hired employees to work on technology to keep with supply and demand. Matt’s the “CEO,” but he’s a lawyer, not a scientist. Everyone knows it too. Only a small group of five trusty employees have actually met Peter. And they passed through the grapevine that the boss is young. He was very particular in choosing who could work for him, and knows his employees trust him too, despite not knowing him directly. So, he does his paper work and communicates through Karen and emails to get the job done.</p><p>Thus, Peter Parker was living three lives. One, as a nerdy teenager with a tragic backstory and a small apartment with a cousin in queens. Two, the rich owner of Alexo Industries. And three, a vigilante known as the Amazing Spider-Man.</p><p>Which brings us back to 7:35, Monday morning, August 22nd, first day of junior year.<br/>
And yes, Peter is dreading going back. But also, excited. Could you blame him? As he stood under the hot water of the shower, he realized how much he misses Ned and Michelle. Peter should be used to death, he thinks. But that didn’t stop him from spending his whole summer wallowing in work and misery. And during that, he also cut contact from anyone. He didn’t answer the many texts from Ned, dwindling in numbers as the days went by, and he didn’t answer the few concerned messages from Michelle either. But he read them. And Peter knew they understood where he was at mentally, and that he needed space. But they were worried.</p><p><em>At the same time though,</em> Peter thinks, <em>I haven’t heard from them in a while. God, they’re probably so mad at me.</em></p><p>With that thought in mind, he swiftly turns off the water, gets dressed, grabs his back back, and makes his way to school.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lmao i just wrote chapter twelve and came back to see what the first ch looked like and good lord this is bad it *sorry* lmao I swear it gets better</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Nice Jacket, Loser</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Okie so I was planning on posting weekly but each chapter is pretty short soo I’m just gonna post every time i write ahead of ‘schedule.’ I have a lot of plans for this, but at the same time have no idea where it’s going</p><p>Also this is what Peter’s penthouse looks like: https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/1600-Broadway-Ph5d-New-York-NY-10019/2084896116_zpid/?mmlb=g,0<br/>(but it’s obvi furnished a lil differently. Imagine a lot more technology and a lot less pink)</p><p>Also this chapter isn’t proof read so sorry for any mistakes</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just as he expected, whispers and stares are what greeted Peter as he walked through the gates. But refusing to pay the gossipers any mind, he tightened his bag straps and confidently walked into the school and to his locker.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That’s another new thing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Although most would assume Peter would become closed off and quiet after everything, it’s quite the opposite. His experiences surely effected him no doubt, and his expressions definitely hardened into something cold, he knows. Being an administrator/ vigilante does that to you. But he’s self-reliant now. Bold. Confident. It’s all that he can do to keep himself from falling into a pile of insecurities and loneliness. And he likes to think he’s still some of the old Peter Parker. Nerdy, Star Wars enthusiast, talkative, and witty. When hanging out with Matt and Wade, he’s almost completely the Peter he’s always been. But that person has been chipping away ever since Freshman year, and by now, maybe there’s not so much of him left anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter was pulled from his thoughts by the very tan, very brunette, and very shocked Ned Leeds. Stunned and gaping right next to him,Peter stopped rummaging through is locker to make eye contact.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">However, the surprise quickly turned to anger, and Peter braced himself for a well deserved scolding as Ned parted his lips to speak.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Peter,” he started sternly, “Where. The </span> <span class="s2"> <em>fuck</em> </span> <span class="s1">. Have you. Been!?” He raised his voiced with each word, and Peter mentally winced at the months of frustration he probably caused his best friend. He went to answer, but was cut off before he could. “No! I’m not done! Do you </span> <em> <span class="s2">know</span> </em> <span class="s1"> how worried me and MJ were? We don’t even have your cousins number and we have </span> <em> <span class="s2">no idea</span> </em> <span class="s1"> where she lives, so there was no other way to get ahold of you! I even tried tracking your phone, and even </span> <span class="s2">then </span> <span class="s1">I couldn’t find you! We didn’t know what happened,” Ned started fidgeting with the lock on his locker until it opened as he continued to rant, “We didn’t even know if you were okay.” He puffs out a breath of air, and stares brokenly at Peter.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And, well, Peter has become exceptionally bad at emotions. “... You tried tracking my phone?” He answers in a pretty blank tone with an equally blank stare. (Peter set up a location scrambler in his penthouse, therefore everything in it, would also be untraceable).</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ned breathes in an enormous amount of air, not unlike how a dragon breathes before it spits fire, and Peter immediately backtracks. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“Wait! Look.. i-I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say. It’s been—“ Peter trails off and looks down, suddenly feeling nervous facing one of the many things he’s been running away from. “Well, it’s been really... hard. To say the least.” He looks back up at his best friend, unable to keep the vulnerability off his face.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter,” Ned sighs, “I just, i just wish you were there.” He hesitates before adding, “Gwen was our friend too, you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter feels a sting in his heart. The shadow of guilt looms over and engulfs him as he thinks of the events leading to her death, and the abandonment he made Ned feel. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">But the Hawaiian boy completely unravels his anger and takes a step towards Peter before wrapping his arms around him in an aggressive hug. “I missed you so much. You’re my best friend, and these things keep happening, and we’re all lost but I need you so don’t you </span> <span class="s2">ever </span> <span class="s1">do something like that again.” He rushes his words near the end, but the message was clearly conveyed anyways.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Relief immediately washes over Peter as he hugs Ned back just as tightly, and he can feel the familiar stinging in his eyes that he hasn’t felt in a very long time. “I won’t.” He whispers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The embrace doesn’t last long. They pull apart, and Ned casually sniffs while wiping his nose before going straight back to put his things in his locker. The tension dissipates rather quickly, and Peter remembers why it was always so easy to talk to Ned. He takes no nonsense, can be serious, but is too forgiving for his own good all the same. Things are already starting to feel like normal between them, and it’s only been a couple of minutes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a few moments, Ned turns back to Peter and looks him up and down before slightly smirking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So. What’s with the whole ‘Dean Winchester’ look?” He gestures to Peter’s clothes. “Do you kill vampires in you’re free time now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter looks down to double check his outfit. He’s wearing a dark gray hoodie, a black leather jacket, and tight black jeans with a watch and clean shoes. Looking back up, he shrugs then adds, “Dean Winchester? The only thing similar is the jacket, I guess.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Ned rolls his eyes, “Still. You look, different.” He’s clearly actually asking, “</span> <em> <span class="s2">where’s the science pun t-shirt? The raggedy shoes? The flannel?” </span> </em> <span class="s1">But Peter only shrugs again and shuts his locker.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, what’s your schedule?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The reunion with Michelle was very different. Peter and her used to be incredibly close. But, they slowly lost that as Peter had to start pulling away, and Michelle distanced herself subconsciously. And now, even in his thoughts, Peter can’t bring himself to call her MJ. It feels wrong. Like it’d be disrespectful to call her by that name when he had practically abandoned her too, even if they didn’t hangout out as much or have serious conversations like he did with Ned <em>before </em>the summer. They lost that a long time ago. He knew he couldn’t come back and pretend like nothing happened and everything was fine.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But that’s exactly what Michelle did.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Peter and Ned sit down at their usual lunch table, Michelle looks up from her book to raise an eyebrow a Peter. And he stares right back. A little caught off-guard by his forwardness, (or as ‘off-guard’ as Michelle Jones could get) she set her book down and starts analyzing Peter. He can see her calculating and trying to peace together what he hadn’t even said. She then looked at Ned for a moment, before lifting her book back up to her nose and saying, “Nice jacket, loser.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A lopsided smile escapes Peter, and he can’t help but feel like maybe today won’t be so bad after all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He and Ned talk about what they did over the summer, pointedly avoiding all things Gwen asan unsaid mutual understanding. Or, more accurately, Ned explains what he did while Peter expertly switches the subject back to his friend every time he’s asked a question without Ned realizing. Peter can feel Michelle listening though, try as she might to hide it.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He’s gotten pretty good at observing. He can see more than what’s being said or done within every human interaction now, and he </span> <em> <span class="s2">knows </span> </em> <span class="s1">Michelle is skeptical of him. Which is to be excepted. She’s also very good at watching, and if Peter was even a little bit worried that she might figure him out, she </span> <span class="s2">would</span> <span class="s1">. But he’s spent a lot of time with a certain human lie detector and a possibly very unstable mercenary, and so he knows his quirks and has worked to successfully get rid of them. Once Wade even joked and said the way Peter talks and carries himself sometimes reminds him of an assassin. And while Peter may not kill people, he can’t help but agree when he sees himself sometimes. So he’s confident that Michelle won’t figure him out so easily.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter? Are you even listening?” Ned waves a hand in front of Peter’s zoned-out face and sighs. When he blinks a few times to refocus his attention, Ned continues. “So, what’d you do while you were M.I.A. anyway? I feel like you’ve barely said anything about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yikes, red flag! Peter scrambles for a half-true story to tell him without revealing anything and comes up with, “Not much. I didn’t really go out a lot, just worked in the ‘lab’ part of my room and watched TV and stuff.” He chuckled a little at the end to keep it light-hearted. He didn’t want to be called out on his depressive tendencies, especially when he didn’t even mention the drinking and the very secret nightly adventures he maybe-might’ve overworked himself on. But Ned seemed to accept this answer, as if it’s what he expected to begin with.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Build anything cool?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Nah not really. I did make a tiny little robot though. I programmed it to be a small bug that could fly around and record my progress while I’m making something, but it’s more of a little pet than anything because it makes cute beepy noises.” Which is true. Peter is instantly amused at the look of slight awe on Ned’s face as he imagined it, which is funny to Peter, because he made much more advanced things over the summer for his company that he could never tell Ned about, and he’s sure Ned could build something similar too. Even his </span> <span class="s2">intelligence </span> <span class="s1">has a secret identity. Pssht.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ugh that’s sounds so cool. Like it seems easy but I can imagine—“ Ned’s voice takes up a tone like when people talk to babies, “how cüte da wittle bug is!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter simply slaps his shoulder lightly with a small laugh, and they spend the rest of the lunch period like that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was nice. Peter almost forgot how different it was talking to Ned than his other, older friends. He enjoyed both’s company, but it just wasn’t the same.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then chemistry rolled around, and Peter realized he made the grave mistake of almost forgetting about Flash Thompson. It’s weird. It’s only been a little over two months, but in that amount of time, so much has happened and he’s been so busy that all these little things about school had escaped his mind. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">But seeing his childhood bully propped up in a seat in the back of the class, was a rude awakening. In school, he’s the same Peter Parker he was in eighth grade to anyone who didn’t know otherwise. And Peter especially always made it a point to let Flash pick on him like he was, because if he didn’t, Flash would pick another kid to beat up. But they wouldn’t have spider powers, or a healing factor, or an adaptation to taking a hit. So Peter put up with it. Seeing him now though, made his blood boil in a way it never did before. Why </span> <em> <span class="s2">should</span> </em> <span class="s1"> he have to take a hit? Why should anyone in this school? There’s such a deep disrespect pooling at the bottom of Peter’s stomach that he accidentally sneers at Flash when they make eye contact, and despite the disgust for the bully he feels in his throat, Peter goes to sit down knowing he’d be held up in the hall after class anyway.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the bell finally rings, Peter hastily packs his books; ready to go home to do some homework, paperwork, and a little patrolling. Only, when he steps through the classroom door, he’s immediately approached by Flash. Not like he didn’t expect it, but one can hope, right?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before, students didn’t care about what Peter was up to, and he’d be practically invisible any other time. But because of the most recent events, Peter is still on their mind, and they’re still watching no matter how much he tried to ignore them all day. Which is why, instead of going straight home as usual, they instead gather in the hall where he and Flash are, unsuccessfully pretending like they were minding their own business.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flash confidently squares his shoulders and sizes Peter up. While Peter tries to simply walk past him, Flash instead nudges his shoulder and pushes Peter into the lockers lined up on the wall of the hallway. While Peter could’ve easily resisted being even slightly moved, he’s always let Flash push him around. And he’s too exhausted to doing anything different anyways. So from his spot on the lockers, Peter drops his book bag to his feet and thinks about trying to reason with his high school bully for once in his life. Considering he can’t exactly fight back, maybe convincing him to back off would be just as effective. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not today flash,” he tries.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Only, Flash doesn’t exactly take the look of exhaustion on Peter’s face as what it is. Instead, his ego seemed to sway him into thinking Peter was </span> <em> <span class="s2">scared</span> </em> <span class="s1">. “Oh! you think you’re so cool now after a little attention—“</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I’m serious. You don’t wanna mess with me. It’s been a long couple of weeks.” Effectively cutting him off, Peter tries again. Seriously, everyone knew about Gwen, and everyone knew they were dating. Is Flash really so insensitive that he just simply doesn’t care? He dated her too, even if it </span> <em> <span class="s2">was </span> </em> <span class="s1">just for a couple of weeks back in freshman year. He knew her. Does it not effect him at all?</span></p><p class="p2">Despite looking a little shocked at Peter’s seemingly out-of-character confidence, it ticked him off more than anything. Flash wanted to say something that would hurt more than his fist. And he did.</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">With a dark chuckle, he starts, “What’re you gonna do? Send your </span> <em> <span class="s2">dead</span> </em> <span class="s1"> girlfriend on me, like I ever listened in the firs—“</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he doesn’t get to finish.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Because just like that, everyone in the hall knew he crossed a line, and Flash himself knew he had crossed a line. But it was too late to take it back, and Peter immediately cuts him off by grabbing Flash by the collar of his polo shirt, spinning them around, and holding him firmly on the lockers in the spot where Peter had just been.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Flash opens him mouth to speak, but Peter doesn’t want to hear it. He’s </span> <em> <span class="s2">seething</span> </em> <span class="s1">. The jock had never gone so far before, and Peter wants nothing more than to punch him in his smug face so he’d finally leave him alone. But what angers him most, is he brought </span> <em> <span class="s2">Gwen</span> </em> <span class="s1"> into it. Of all people. Her name reverberates through his mind on a daily basis, with just about everything different he could’ve done to protect her. She was too </span> <em> <span class="s2">good </span> </em> <span class="s1">to have met the end she did, and definitely too good to be uttered of by the waste of space that was Flash Thompson. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">If only he’d been just a little faster.</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>
    <span class="s2">Then maybe...</span>
  </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Instead of thinking about it, Peter pulls Flash’s now crumpled collar towards him, and then aggressively pushes him back so Flash hits his head hard on the lockers. He stares down a surprised Flash with a dangerous and steely look that showed more than just his nerdy persona, but the confident and powerful person he was on the streets.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You don’t get to say that,” he spits,<em> “</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">you don’t get to talk about her.</span> <span class="s1">”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With one last look at Flash, Peter turns to eye the surrounding crowd with a still cold, but nevertheless, blank look. Simply shrugging, he grabs his bag off the floor, swings a strap over his shoulder, and exits the building— silently hoping for Flash to have at least a mild concussion. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Drop some of ideas of things you’d like to see for this story! I might include some :)</p><p>***</p><p>I updated this chapter a tiny bit. I wanted to change something because I have a new idea in the plot point, and I needed it to add up lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Bad Deadpool!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I forgot to mention this in my notes on the last chapter. I don’t like the new flash (honestly, he’s a lil bitch). Imagine him as blonde and about MJ’s height. He’s still relatively smart tho— at least, for an alternate lmao</p><p>Anyways, here’s some action for the bored ppl out here</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Karen, what’s the ETA on these guys?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><em>“According to intel, they should be arriving in the next half hour or so.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After school, Peter immediately went to read over the marketing team’s newest pitch to keep his mind off things and to cool down. Luckily, it worked, as the idea wasn’t so bad. He called Matt to relay the news, and after day-business-talk was out of the way, he, himself, was also relayed some interesting information.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adrian Toomes.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">That chase was a nightmare. He still felt bad about ditching Liz, let alone putting her dad in jail (despite the fact that she didn’t know it was him). He even still has nightmares bringing him back to when he was trapped in a pile of heavy rubble that was once a whole parking garage. At the time, he thought, <em>“</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">How fitting. I’ll die alone.”</span></em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">But that was behind him. The vulture is behind bars. It’s not Toomes who worries him. It’s his </span> <em> <span class="s2">workers</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>.</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yeah, Peter took down the guy that instigated the illegal weapon selling, but there were so many more involved. It’d be too easy if the guys remaining simply gave up because they no longer had a leader. No, they needed money. And they’d do anything to get it. So, why not keep doing what they know?</span>
</p><p class="p2">Which is precisely the problem. Peter was hurt badly after the plane crash and fight with Vulture. In the few days it took him to recover, the guys working for Toomes took the left over alien-tech and scattered. Now, there’s multiple rings Peter has to find, investigate, and compromise.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At least he won’t have to fight another bird-man.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he’s not doing it alone this time. Which is why Matt brought up the intel he got from a guy who bought from them, not realizing what he was really getting into. He came to Matt-the-Lawyer, asking for a defense should he need one. Of course, he turned him away. But not before gaining what he needed. According to the buyer, a group of guys will be meeting at a certain street corner tonight, where they’ll drive their client (blindfolded) to one of their selling locations in order to stay under the radar.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And if one looked up from that street corner that night, at the roof of a shadowed and unstable building, they’d see a group of vigilantes. Waiting.</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter. Stop. They’ll be here.” Daredevil started, “I can tell when people are lying, remember?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yeah! Trust our good ol’ buddy Matty here! You’ve checked like five times in the past ten minutes, and,” Deadpool lowers his voice to a loud whisper, as if telling a secret that everyone would hear, </span> <span class="s2">“Yellow thinks you’re a going a bit, <em>crrraaazzyy~.</em>” </span> <span class="s1">He finishes the sentence with a cliched ‘coo-coo’ sign as he loops his finger in a circle around his right ear. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter sighs, lowering his guard just a bit as they clearly would still be waiting for a while. “I know, I know— sorry guys. It’s just been a stressful day and kicking some bad-guy-butt would definitely make me feel better,” he laughs a little before adding seriously, “Plus, It’s kinda my fault these guys are still around. So, I want them caught as soon as possible.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Matt puts his hand on Peter’s shoulder to assure he has his full attention. “Listen. It’s not you’re fault they’re still selling weapons. You had no way of getting to them right then, and Adrian wouldn’t give up their names. Some people are just bad, and they’ll keep committing crimes for as long as they can get away with it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Which is why we’re here! So we can find them and,” Wade pounds his fist into his other palm, and lowers his voice to a rough and angry (but loud) tone,” beat them to a palp.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter sits down crossed-legged while listening to his friends assure him. “Yeah uh, do I have to remind you? </span> <em> <span class="s2">No dismembering. </span> </em> <span class="s1">Bad Deadpool!” He says with a pointed finger. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Awhhh! C’mon Petey! Not even a hand?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter shakes his head no, although he’s clearly amused. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe a finger? Hey! That can happen by accident. You never know! Bea and Arthur are pretty sharp, one wrong move and a criminal could totally lose a couple fingers! Then it’s not my fault!” He reasons. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, okay. Hypothetically, I guess that could somehow happen on accident.” Trying to talk Deadpool down from doing what he does best was a pointless argument, but Peter knew Wade tries his hardest to hold himself back. He’s been killing a lot less, even though that’s where most of his paychecks come from. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Matt reenters the conversation somewhat seriously, ever the responsible one. “You said you’d had a long day. Wanna talk about it? I know it was your first day back at school.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Deadpool was now also waiting for an answer, so Peter looks away from them and stares at the setting sun over New York City. “I don’t know. It’s the same as it’s always been at school, but things just seemed to get to me a lot more than they did before.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Half-truth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter turns his head back to Matt. </span> <span class="s2"><em>God, that can be annoying sometimes.</em> </span> <span class="s1">But, he felt a small smile grace his lips anyway (not that Matt could see it behind his mask, let alone see at all). “You got me.” Debating whether or not he should continue, he decides <em>‘</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">fuck it.</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>’</em> Peter had never brought Flash up to Ben and May, and maybe it’ll help to actually get advice from an adult for once. “There’s this guy. His name is Flash,” he starts. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span><span class="s2"><em>Flash?</em> </span> <span class="s1">What kinda of name is that?” Wade unhelpfully interrupts. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, his real name is Eugene. And I’ve been in school with him practically my whole life. Basically, for whatever reason, he’d never leave me alone. After the spider-bite, I knew I could defend myself, but it seemed wrong to use my powers on a civilian. Not to mention the fact that he’d terrorize someone else if not me. So, I went along with it...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter could practically hear Matt’s disapproval. He knew it’d seem stupid to let himself get beat up to anyone else. But Matt keeps quiet, an obvious signal for Peter to continue.</span>
</p><p class="p2">“It never really bothered me. I chose to be the target. But today—“ Peter takes a deep breath </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">before telling the rest of the story, “Well he, he went to far. He brought up Gwen, and used her name against me. I didn’t meant to, but i lost it. I didn’t hit him, but I’ve never stood up to him before. And I might’ve (hopefully) given him a concussion. Do you think I might’ve risked blowing my cover?” He finishes the story in one breath, rushing the words out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter? You get bullied at school?” Is the first thing Matt says after a long moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Deadpool on the other hand, quietly mummers to himself, “</span> <em> <span class="s2">No</span> </em> <span class="s1">, white! We </span> <em> <span class="s2">cannot </span> </em> <span class="s1">murder this ‘Flash’ guy! He’s a teenager! Yes, yellow. It </span> <em> <span class="s2">does </span> </em> <span class="s1">matter!”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sighing, Peter decided to pointedly ignore Wade’s inner debate of committing first- degree murder, and answers Matt. “That’s not the point. I’ve been so careful with keeping up appearances as that nerdy kid in school so that nobody could possibly connect me into being anything </span> <em> <span class="s2">but </span> </em> <span class="s1">that. I’m asking, did I make a huge mistake?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Matt sits down next to Peter on the roof. “No. It’s totally normal for a teenager to lose his temper. Even if you weren’t Spider-Man, I’m sure more people expected you to do something about it at some point. He crossed a line, so while people might me surprised you did something for once, they won’t look into it.” He grabs Peter’s shoulder again and nudges him slightly to get him to cheer up. “Don’t worry so much. You’re only seventeen, you’re </span> <em> <span class="s2">allowed </span> </em> <span class="s1">to let a little out sometimes. Enhanced or not, you have a right to emotions.” He flicks Peter’s forehead where his eyebrows were furrowed before standing up again and facing Wade. “And you absolutely cannot kill Peter’s high school bully, Wade.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“THATS what </span> <em> <span class="s2">I </span> </em> <span class="s1">said!!”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Feeling a little better, Peter looks back at the horizon, finding the sun now gone and the sky taking a blue-purple color slowly. It was peaceful. Having someone to reassure him of things (besides Karen, his AI) reminded him of what it was like when he had people to come home to. Admittedly, it was hard keeping things to himself when all his life he had been comfortable enough to be an open-book. Now, he can’t bring himself to say anything but cold, harsh, words when talking to someone he doesn’t trust as Peter Parker. As Spider-Man, the light-hearted quips were basically part of the job at this point. He’s actually glad he developed that habit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The cool breeze and complacent atmosphere almost made Peter forget he was on the job. An important one, at that. But he was brought back from his own little world when the air suddenly tensed, and Daredevil’s frigid voice frosted and broke the glass barrier that seemed to surround them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We got company.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Instantly, all three were on their feet and watching the road, ready for anything when the car Matt had detected comes into view. When the rusted black van stops at the exact corner the intel suggested, Peter silently thanks the gods for sending them a solid lead. </span>
</p><p class="p2">A man wearing a cap and baggy clothes walks from across the street, and the driver of the van rolls the window down. The man starts waving his hands a little, as if talking enthusiastically, and Peter turns to Matt to silently ask him what they’re saying.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Daredevil nods his head and begins translating. “The buyer says he wants something that’ll get the ‘job done quick and clean.’”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll do you one better,” Matt continues to translate, but for the guy in the van this time. “I got stuff that’ll do just that, and it’ll be completely untraceable.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man in the van tells the buyer to get in, and the side door opens to reveal what seems to be a couple more men in the back, armed with alien tech. The street-guy hops in next to them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yo, double d, how many psychos are in there?” Deadpool speaks up for the first time through the whole exchange.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m getting three— no, four?” Seemingly confused as to why he hears four heartbeats, Matt scans the streets for a sign of someone else. Sure enough, they were so focused on the van when it pulled up, he failed to notice the car parked a little further behind it. Probably meant to follow close to hide the plates and lookout for anyone on their trail. “The last guys in the car just behind them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter and Wade blink, appearing to also just now notice the inconspicuous Chevrolet Malibu. </span>
</p><p class="p2">The van starts moving, the car following as expected, and the team instantaneously get ready to pursue.</p><p class="p2">While Peter opts to stealthily scale the buildings that line the road, Matt runs from rooftop to rooftop. Wade said he he’d meet them there, as he had a way of getting around easily, but the other two didn’t really think about it and chalked it up to just Wade being Wade.</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">They follow the car for about fifteen minutes before they get into a secluded part of Mott Haven. With less buildings to ride along, Spider-Man and Daredevil run in the shadows until they reach a warehouse that seems to stand alone. They stop when the cars screech to a halt, staying just far enough away to remain undetected. The people pile out of the van (and sure enough, the buyer </span> <span class="s2">is</span> <span class="s1"> blindfolded). They push him along as they walk into the entrance of the warehouse, harshly closing the door behind them.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Deeming it safe, Peter lets out a little huff. “Warehouses. It’s </span> <em> <span class="s2">always</span> </em> <span class="s1"> warehouses. Is this in like bad-guy 101 or what?” He kicks a pebble lightly, and it soars through the air before hitting the windshield of a taxi that was quietly coming to a stop a few meters away. “When did—?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The taxi was gone just as fast as it was there, but now Deadpool stood casually in front of them.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“A </span> <em> <span class="s2">taxi? </span> </em> <span class="s1">You took a goddamn </span> <em> <span class="s2">taxi?</span> </em> <span class="s1">” Daredevil heatedly whispers. “How did you even know where to tell them to go?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, yeah. I know a guy. And lemme tell you somethin’ Devil, ain’t no better way of gettin’ somewhere in New York than a taxi.” Wade shrugs and gestures is hands as if he were in a Wild West movie.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Instead of continuing the subject further, Matt grabs the bridge of his nose with a sigh, before motioning for the two to follow him to the warehouse.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Spider-Man, you take the window on the top left, you’re the only one who can reach. Wait and listen for my signal before going in. Deadpool, you’re with me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The plan is put promptly into action. Peter quietly runs around the corner of the building before jumping up and sticking to the wall. He crawls to the window to peek in, while Deadpool and Daredevil lean on the adjacent wall, Matt listening in on the conversations and </span>describing what’s being said to Wade.</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">While the warehouse in itself seems abandoned and close to falling apart, the inside is surprisingly decent. There’s an ominous blue light that cascades over the walls, coming from the shelves of stolen tech. There’s scrap metals in crates and lab benches for where the weapons are made or modified. This is a solid headquarters. Not including the five men who just arrived for the deal, there are four others working on and arranging weapons. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Not a threatening number</em>, </span> <span class="s1">Peter thinks,</span> <em> <span class="s2"> but the alien tech is a substantial factor.</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter crawls to the corner of the building, close enough to be in earshot of Wade and for his voice to not be drowned out by the sounds from inside to Matt. “Eight guys, not including the client— though, you probably already knew that.” Peter trails off before continuing again, “All armed with alien tech, and there’s loads more on some shelves in the back right corner of the room.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eight guys? PSSHT!” Wade waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “What’re we so worried about? Last one in is a rotten chimichanga!” Wade starts running towards the entrance before even finishing his sentence.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Wade! </span> <em> <span class="s2">Wade! </span> </em> <span class="s1">You</span> <em> <span class="s2"> fucking </span> </em> <span class="s1">idiot!” Matt calls after him fruitlessly. Now talking to Peter, he rushes, “Go back to the window and be our aerial view. Jump in and help if or when it seems like we need it.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter nods and begins to made his way there, hearing Matt mutter under his breath, <em>“—</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">doesn’t even consider that </span> </em> <span class="s1">normal</span> <em> <span class="s2"> people can </span> </em> <span class="s1">die</span> <em> <span class="s2">. Stupid healing factors...” </span> </em> <span class="s1">as he hurries after Deadpool.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Daredevil makes it inside, despite it not being more than a minute after Deadpool, it’s already chaotic. Wade is levitating in the air with a blue glow surrounding him. The source of it appears to be a huge gun, swinging left and right causing Deadpool to smash into the side walls. Peter is talking in a low voice, narrating the scene and enemy placements so only Matt can hear.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Daredevil tackles the guy with the strange-sounding gun and throws the weapon across the floor before knocking him out. Peter webs the gun to the ceiling from his spot perched on the only window. Wade falls to the ground with an “</span> <span class="s2"><em>oof!</em>”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Oooh-ho-oh! That was </span> <span class="s2">so </span> <span class="s1">not fun!” Deadpool pulls out his katanas and starts swinging at the shockingly hand-to-hand-combat-adept men. (If he cuts off a few fingers, no one mentions it.. except for the guy now yelling in pain on the floor).</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With Wade going wild, Matt focuses in on the guys nearest to him. He can hear the heartbeat of the buyer, it’s beating fast in fear rather than adrenaline. So instead of attacking him, Matt goes for the guy next to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“</span>
  <span class="s2"><em>Wait! Daredevil! That’s-</em>“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Charging at him, he hears Peter’s warning just a second too late. He heard a strange sounding energy being released from the gun, and soon his left arm felt like it was burning from the inside-out.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter swings down to were Matt is. He recognized the tech from when he fought The Vulture. He’s not actually sure what it does, but he knows it sears skin like paper. Webbing the weapon out of the criminals hands, Peter wraps his legs around the guys neck mid-swing, and leans backwards until the bad guy’s back hits the floor roughly. Peter quickly glances to Deadpool to check on how he’s doing (<em>“</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">after I waste you, I’m gonna get some sushi~</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>”</em>) he’s doing fine, if not a little too fine. Unconcerned, Peter rushes to where Matt is cradling his arm in agony on the floor. Examining it quickly, he deems it not life threatening nor unfixable. He doesn’t bother explaining this to Matt, surely he already knows it’s just a really bad burn.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Matt. Okay, you’re gonna be fine. Your suit protected you from the brunt of the attack so here, I’m gonna take you outside and me and Deadpool are gonna finish this. It won’t take long.” Peter goes to pick Matt up, but is stopped when Matt starts getting up instead.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I’m fine. It hurts like </span> <em> <span class="s2">hell</span> </em> <span class="s1">, but I’ll use my right arm. Let’s do this.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Knowing better than to argue, Peter just helps steady Daredevil as he stands up before swinging to go join Wade. He webs up the buyer to avoid him getting in the way as they fight the last two guys...</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> or three, apparently.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">While they were side tracked, one of the men threw a few weapons in a duffle bag and started to make a run for it. Matt would’ve noticed him, but the pain in his arm immobilized him for a second long enough to lose track of the heartbeats. “One’s getting away!” He starts chasing after him, and with the opponents Wade and Peter had now webbed up or knocked out, they join him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When they exit the building, the last guy is already turning the engine in the car and starting to drive away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh no you don’t!” Peter shot a web to the bumper of the van, getting pulled off his feet from the momentum of the moving car. He quickly regains his footing and hops onto the roof the rusty Ford Econoline. He landed with a loud thud, so it’s no surprise when the car swerves due to the nervousness of the driver. Peter crawls up to the front of the van, but the man starts shooting upwards at him a through the roof with a standard gun.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, ah, ahhh~.” Peter swings is head over to look at the driver through the passenger side window. Idiot left it open. “Hey Mac! How much for a nice ride through Central Park?” He shoots a web at the gun, successfully prying it out of the criminals hands. He then webs the guy’s waist into place because he wasn’t wearing a seat belt. “Safety first!” (But more so the driver wouldn’t fly through the window when he forces the car to stop).</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Karen, Web Grenade! Web Grenade, </span> <em> <span class="s2">Web Grenade!</span> </em> <span class="s1">” He webs each tire to the road, disabling them from moving the car any further.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">After hitting his head on the steering wheel from the sudden stop, the driver opens the car door and stumbles out. He grabs the duffel bag from right next to him, and actually tries to </span> <em> <span class="s2">run</span> </em> <span class="s1"> for it! Apparently, the webbing didn’t actually attach him to the seat, but just wrapped around his waist (oops?). Fake yawing, Peter webs the guy down to the pavement without even looking, and sticks the duffle bag full of illegal weapons to the side of the truck.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Comically dusting off his suit, Peter goes back down the road he came from to join Deadpool and Daredevil at the warehouse once again.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your punk-ass left us to do clean up.” Matt jokes, as he puts all the weapons from the shelves into the crates of parts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We don’t clean up? We wait and watch until the police get here to pick up the evidence and take them to damage control.” Peter swings to a stop in front of Matt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, well, tell that to the bloody fingers I had to collect.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter pauses at the odd sentence, before whining, “Waaade.” Peter turns his head to look at the mercenary.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Wade touches the tips of his pointer fingers together, “I told you, it can happen sometimes... <em>shut up, Yellow! It was </em>your <em>idea!”</em> </span> <span class="s1">He flicks the air near his forehead.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The team hides while they wait for the police, and leave as soon as they get there. Wade gets back in a taxi, for whatever reason. Peter and Matt stay together up until they reach Hell’s Kitchen, then Matt’s off too. He said he’s going to go get his arm checked out by a friend named Claire or something. Now swinging back to his penthouse near Midtown Manhattan, Peter can’t help but think over all of the events of that day. He really is </span> <span class="s2"><em>exhausted</em>.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Once he reaches the building, he opens the only bedroom window not bolted close. Crawling on the ceiling until he’s right above his bed, he lets go and plops down onto it. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Here’s to another draining day in the life of Peter Parker</em>, </span> <span class="s1">he thinks, not five minutes before falling asleep without even taking off his suit. </span></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Was this lame? I tried making it clear that eight guys is literally nothing compared to the three of them, but with alien-tech added in, it’d be a lot tougher to deal with, right? No? Idk man</p><p>Anyways, did I do Deadpool right? It was surprisingly hard to get his character perfect because of how random he is lol. Hopefully I did ok! Of course, if he can’t kill anybody (because Peter would hate it) he’s going to slow down which explains why he was a lot less reckless here than you’d expect (bc instant healing, yk? I’d be reckless too)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Caught That, Did You?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tony Stark has entered the chat.<br/>I repeat, TONY STARK has ENTERED the chat!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony Stark pulls up a hologram of reported news from the night before. “Spider-Man.” He gestures towards the article, indicating his team to read it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A weapons bust?” Rhodey speaks up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not just any weapons. Alien-tech.” Tony goes to sit down on the common room couch next to Natasha to give everyone a clear view.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So?” Wanda adds.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>”So,</em> </span> <span class="s1">what do you think?” He’s beginning to get impatient. Never mind that he’s being cryptic, is his team slow or what?</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Steve enters the room from the kitchen where he had been listening with a cup of super-solider coffee. “Think about </span> <em> <span class="s2">what</span> </em> <span class="s1">, Stark?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He jumps up from his seat and talks with his hands animatedly, “Spider-Man! He’s good right? He could be really helpful on stealth missions! I’m </span> <em> <span class="s2">asking</span> </em> <span class="s1">, should we reach out?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That kid took down your plane a few months ago, right? Saved a bunch of our stuff from being stolen? Why’s he still dealing with alien-tech?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yeah... seems like there was still more to it.” He answers Rhodey hesitantly. </span> <span class="s2">What’s his point? </span> <span class="s1">“He’s tying up loose ends, that’s good.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Natasha takes this moment to convey her thoughts. “Yeah. Loose ends. Isn’t it kinda unprofessional to leave any in the first place?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Clint breaths before speaking, trying to find a away to say what he wants to say without being offensive. “Tony,” he starts, “he’s a street-level vigilante. Jessica Jones is </span> <span class="s2"><em>good</em>, </span> <span class="s1">Luke Cage is </span> <span class="s2"><em>good</em>, </span> <span class="s1">but they’re not avengers.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And doesn’t he run around with Daredevil and Deadpool? Aren’t those guys bad news?” Steve says as he sips his steaming coffee.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony slumps back down to the couch, “So, none of you agree?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Bruce Banner, who had been silently listening the whole time, finally voices his opinion. “I do,” he says with a shrug. The team all turn to look at him, surprised, and wait for him to explain. “Well, we could use some fresh blood. Why don’t we just look into him? He’s got a good track record. He dealt with the Lizard </span> <em> <span class="s2">and</span> </em> <span class="s1"> Octavius when </span> <em> <span class="s2">we</span> </em> <span class="s1"> didn’t. You can’t tell me you guys have never left loose ends before, it happens. And at least he’s cleaning them up.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See~! The angry rage monster agrees too!” With newfound enthusiasm, Tony points towards Bruce and nods his head in agreement.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The Avengers all start talking over one another. Some still set on their earlier assessments, while others are beginning to sway a little, and a low, ‘</span> <span class="s2"><em>Well i mean, I don’t know how</em> </span> <span class="s1">he</span> <span class="s2"><em> particularly feels about it—</em>‘ </span> <span class="s1">response to Tony from Banner.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~</span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter was sat uninterestedly in class. It’s only the second day, but he can’t help but wish he would’ve skipped. Maybe he really </span> <span class="s2"> <em>should</em> </span> <span class="s1"> be in college? No, no, if he went to MIT right now he’d have to stop being Spider-Man, not to mention his company is based in New York. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter? Are you with us?” The teacher stops her lesson to stare directly at him, clearly disapproving his lack of attention. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm?” Peter glances at her neutrally, “Yes, I’m listening.” He sounds tired in his answer, as if her class was boring him (which, well, it is). </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">She stays quiet for a moment, silently bristling. “I see. Well then, can you explain to me the part gamma rays play in gamma radiation?” She asks this question proudly, as she knows she never explained it to the class. So even if he </span> <span class="s2">was</span> <span class="s1"> paying attention, he still shouldn’t know the answer. Especially since that’s Physics, and she teaches Biology. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter sighs, as if answering such an obvious question was a chore, “Gamma rays are high-energy photons that are emitted by radioactive decay of atomic nuclei.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Expecting the teacher to let it go and continue her lesson, he’s surprised when he hears no response for several minutes. Peter looks up to find his teacher slightly dumbfounded, and the students in his Biology are giving him a confused look. Slightly backtracking, as it seems he wasn’t supposed to answer correctly, he reestablishes, “I read it in a Hulk article. It’s how he got his powers, you know?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Picking a mainstream topic always adverts the conversation from him, he finds. As it’s something everyone likes talking about it, and will just assume he’s a fanboy. But truthfully, Peter follows Dr. Bruce Banner’s work much more than he follows the Hulk on the media. Although, admittedly, the green guy is pretty cool too. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Thankfully, everyone accepts this answer. He may be at a STEM school, but Peter knows his IQ would bring him attention. He wants to stay unnoticed as he always had been, and he’s pretty good at keeping the scrutiny off of himself. So, class continues. And if Peter went back to zoning out, nobody decided to call him out on it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The rest of the day went by pretty smoothly. He passed Flash in the hall, so it unfortunately doesn’t seem he has a concussion. But he nevertheless stayed of Peter’s way, so, that’s a plus. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">When it became time for lunch, Peter was almost dreading seeing his best friend. Ned has a way of getting scarily close to asking questions that can’t exactly be answered. Of course, there’s always the thought that maybe he should just</span> <em> <span class="s2"> tell</span> </em> <span class="s1"> Ned. Despite the fact that the kid talks about anything and everything, he only really talks to Peter and Michelle. So, who’d he tell anyway? </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Peter sets his lunch down on the table, he supposes that maybe he could think about it. He can trust Ned. He’s a great friend, and he deserves the truth. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Hey, Peter!” </span> <span class="s2"><em>The man of the hour</em>, </span> <span class="s1">Peter thinks. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Ned, what’s up man.” He runs his hands through his hair, not meaning to sound so stressed in his answer. He really needs to stop overthinking things...</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ned watches him closely for a split second, before going back to his normal cheerful self. “So, I heard something happened with Flash yesterday!” He starts opening his milk while talking, as if it was everyday his closest friend stood up to their childhood bully, “and lemme say, I’m really glad you finally stood up for yourself. But, are you okay?” Suddenly, Ned looks serious again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe Peter should’ve given him more credit. Ned might be better at watching than he originally thought, or maybe, he just knows Peter too well. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah, why?” Peter answers slightly breathlessly. It’s easy to lie, but so much harder when he’s talking to a friend. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Ned given him an <em>‘</em></span><em><span class="s2">are you serious</span></em><span class="s1"><em>’</em> look and Peter automatically starts coming up with a story, almost by default. But he pauses, and he reflects on his earlier thoughts as he stares at the one person he can trust as </span> <span class="s2">just </span> <span class="s1">Peter Parker. So instead, he admits he has something to talk about.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Okay. What is it?” Ned lowers his voice a little, a clear indication that he wants to talk about something serious. “Listen, before you tell me, I know something’s different. I know that </span> <span class="s2">you know </span> <span class="s1">that I’ve noticed. And you can tell me anything. I want to help.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A little surprised at Ned’s forwardness, Peter lowers his voice too. “Yeah. I know I can.” He clears his throat, “But hey, I’ll tell you after decathlon. Just walk out with me, and we can go to mine and talk about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re going to decathlon?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter could almost laugh at that question. Michelle from down the table also seemed to shift into listening for his answer. He knew everyone on the team hardly expected him to show up, and it was always fun to see them so shocked whenever he actually did. Especially Flash, because no matter how many times Peter leaves, Mr. Harrington always welcomes him back and bumps Flash back down to alternate.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I’m going.” Peter raises his voice back up to it’s normal volume. “Got out first meet coming up next Friday! Isn’t that right, Michelle?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">She seems a little perplexed to be spoken to directly, like she didn’t expect to be caught listening. “Right. And I suppose you’re going to that too?” She puts down her book to stare directly at him. “You really </span> <span class="s2">are</span> <span class="s1"> a new Peter Parker.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter’s brows furrow at the sudden blow. Was she still mad about the summer? He wouldn’t</span> <span class="s1">hold it against her if she was, he’s still shocked that Ned had forgiven him so easily. But he’s </span><em><span class="s2">trying </span></em><span class="s1">be there for his friends now that he’s stable enough to do so. Hell, he’s about to tell Ned his biggest secret.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But before he could ask, she stands up and throws away her apple. “See you there, loser,” then leaves the lunchroom.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter turns to give Ned a look, But Ned is already staring at him. “Is she, still mad at me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Bro, I don’t know MJ works.” He shovels some food into his mouth before continuing, “Why </span> <span class="s2">are</span> <span class="s1"> you calling her ‘Michelle’ anyways? Didn’t she give you the go-ahead to call her MJ?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, yeah. But, wouldn’t it be.. I don’t know— wrong? To call her that now? Especially if she’s mad at me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ned thinks about it before answering, “Well, maybe she thinks you don’t consider her a friend anymore. By calling her Michelle, you distance yourself. Maybe that’s what she’s mad about.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter never thought of it that way. Is he building a rift? Would it be weird to go back to calling her MJ now?</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">Walking through the hall to his next class, he wonders if having three different parts to himself will always be this hard. He graduates next year, but until then, he’ll have to handle petty school worries overtop of life or death scenarios as Spider-Man, </span> <em> <span class="s2">and </span> </em> <span class="s1">run his company as well. Maybe telling Ned really is the right decision. Matt and Wade know him well enough, but Ned will know him as a classmate too. Hopefully, he’s not mad that Peter kept so much from him for so long.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just as suspected, the decathlon team is surprised when Peter makes his entrance. It’s only the second day, but there was a couple meets in the summer that he obviously didn’t go to, and his track record from last year wasn’t so good either. But this year, Peter wants to be reliable. He needs to learn how to manage his life better.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Flash gives him a dirty look, but seems to want to make up for what he said yesterday, and stays quiet. He comes down from the stage where they have the question-booth-thing set up, and Peter passes him on the way to take the spot where he’d just been sitting.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Nice of you to show up.” Michelle— no, </span> <em> <span class="s2">MJ</span> </em> <span class="s1">, starts. Ignoring Peter’s questioning glance, she starts practice. “So, meet next Friday. It’ll be at The High School for MSE at City College. Big school, smart kids. Let’s practice.” She pulls out some questions cards.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is the heaviest naturally occurring element?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A desk-bell sounds before Abraham answers, “Uranium.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Correct. What law states that the total entropy of an isolated system can never decrease over time, and is constant if all processes are reversible.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The second law of thermodynamics!” </span>
</p><p class="p2">“Very good. What metal can absorb, store, release large amounts of kinetic energy, and has photorefractive properties?”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Strontium barium vibranium.” Peter answers. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“What’s an singularity?”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter rings the bell again, “An objects that’s so small it has zero size, but infinite density.” He finishes with a raised brow, and MJ accepts the challenge. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“The primary function of the Citric Acid Cycle is to—?” She asks, but this time looking directly as Peter.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Facilitate aerobic cellular energy production.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is a fixed quantity of light energy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Photon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Absolute zero is—?” MJ starts speeding up as she asks questions, waiting for Peter to slip and answer wrong on one.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter’s phone starts ringing, but he silences it without looking. “The temperature at which all particles stop moving.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is the difference between centripetal acceleration and centrifugal force?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Centrifugal Force is fictitious and rotates in reference frames, while centripetal travels an in a curved or circular—“ Peter is cut off by Karen overriding his silencer and speaking to him </span> <em><span class="s2">in the middle of decathlon.</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘Peter, I recommend you answer your phone.’</span></em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">His classmates are clearly confused, looking for the sudden voice. He jumps out of his chair to get his phone and answer the persistent caller. “</span><span class="s2"><em>What?</em>”</span> <span class="s1"> He says harshly, looking around at all the faces now watching him.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Boss, you need to get down here,” one of his head workers, Adam, says urgently. “Security breach. Someone’s trying to get into our files and they’re shooting down all of our firewalls as we speak.” There’s papers rustling and the constant clicking of keyboards in the background.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter walks further away from everyone and lowers his voice to a loud whisper, “Wait, wait, someone can get pass my firewalls? How far are they?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“<em>Get here.</em>” </span> <span class="s1">Adam says before hanging up.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter turns back to his decathlon team. He swallows thickly before awkwardly pointing at his phone. “I uh, I... I gotta go.” He looks at Michelle as he says this, and doesn’t miss the disappointment on her face that she tried to hide.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Pocketing his phone and scratching the back of his neck, Peter walks over to where his book-bag is, avoiding eye contact. He then looks over to Mr. Harrington, quickly explaining, “Um. Family emergency.” He shrugs, then walks swiftly out the door. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">Family emergency? God, I don’t even </span> </em> <span class="s1">have </span> <em> <span class="s2">a family! </span> </em> <span class="s1">Peter berates himself for his poor excuse as he runs to his company a couple blocks from his school. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Who could possibly get past my firewalls? Definitely a small number of people who’d even try. </span> </em> <span class="s1">Shaking his head, he picks up the pace until he reaches Alexo Industries.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Not caring that every person in the lobby could see him, a teenage boy with a backpack, he scans his card to get through security. Wasting no time, he walks briskly until he reaches the elevator that leads past the employee lab floors and directly to his personal lab at the top of the building.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he walks out, he swings his bag off his shoulder and on to the floor without stopping, and meets Adam at the holographic projection that depicts the firewalls as they go down. Gently pushing him out of the way, Peter sits at his desk and begins countermeasures. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s4">Stark Tower</span></strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong>
    <span class="s4">4:29pm, Tuesday, August 23rd</span>
  </strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nick Fury thinks Alexo Industries is fishy. Nobody seems to know who runs it, and they made a prominent name for themselves in a very short amount of time. He tells Tony to look into it, and that’s exactly what Tony Stark starts doing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He watched for about a week. Listened in on intern’s conversations, looked up articles about the company, and searched for all the background he could get. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nothing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, he decided to look from the source. Now Tuesday evening, he tells Friday, his AI, to pull up the coding on Alexo Industries’ security. He starts by unscrambling the system as discreetly as possible. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Friday, send the TCP packet through the VPN connection. There’s a surprising amount of firewalls I’m gonna need to get past.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The AI does at told, and Tony continues to decode each filter one by one. After about fifteen minutes, when he’s getting close to the end, he’s even more surprised when more start coming up. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">‘Boss, it appears Alexo is responding,’ </span> </em> <span class="s1">Friday unhelpfully explains. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yes, I can </span> <em><span class="s2">see</span></em> <span class="s1"> that.” He decodes them quickly, stressing out a little as they don’t seem to be slowing down anytime soon. “Friday, rewire the schematics and tell me where exactly—“</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Friday cuts him off, </span> <em> <span class="s2">‘I’m detecting a breach in our own systems.’</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span><span class="s2"><em>What!?</em>”</span> <span class="s1"> Tony slams his hand on the table and switches from decoding to tracking the source of the breach. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">‘<em>It seems—‘</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He</span> <span class="s1">hears static, before a new AI talks instead of Friday, clearly not one of his own.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘Hello, Mr. Stark. I am an artificial intelligence named Karen. Boss says he’s sorry he had to disable F.R.I.D.A.Y. momentarily to get his message through.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Getting over his shock, Tony speaks to the mysterious AI. “Boss? As in Alexo Industries’ boss? What’s the message? How did he get through my security procedures? Who is he?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘He says ‘I don’t know why you’re trying to rupture my systems. But there’s nothing here worth looking into.’’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tony taps his desk rhythmically with the tips of his fingers, “Well tell him his company is suspicious. I know Matt Murdock isn’t the CEO. He’s a lawyer with no background in Biochemistry and definitely not in Artificial Intelligence or coding. Who </span> <em> <span class="s2">is </span> </em> <span class="s1">he?</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“<em>That’s confidential</em>.” </span> <span class="s1">The AI quickly responds. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well I need to know,” Getting slightly frustrated, Tony speaks rashly to the voice that disabled Friday, “Fury’s on my ass and if your boss has nothing to hide—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s4"> <b>ALEXO Industries </b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s4"> <b>4:41pm, Tuesday, August 23rd</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Karen, put me through.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘I don’t recommend it, Peter. Stark Industries is not only a rival, but Ironman could easily compromise your identity if given the chance.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s precisely why. Put me on.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">If AI’s could sigh, Karen would be. ‘</span> <em> <span class="s2">As you wish.’</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s4">Stark Tower</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s4">4:43pm, Tuesday, August 23rd</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Stark.” A mechanical but otherwise human sounding voice cuts through the speakers, replacing the the AI that replaced Friday. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony stops in the middle of his sentence upon hearing the young voice of Alexo’s apparent ‘mystery owner.’ </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Silver Alkyon is it? Mr. ‘Kingfisher’ himself?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Caught that, did you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s that even supposed to mean.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Without missing a beat, Peter responds, “Irrelevant. I’m here. What’s Furry doing looking into me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re suspicious.” Tony hesitates. Should he really be talking to him? He was supposed to look into quietly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a pause before, “How so?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony sighs. It doesn’t matter, he’s already talking to him. Might as well find out what he needs to know. “Well for starters, who are you? Why are you hiding your identity? What’re you up to?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing, really. I’m only hiding my identity because I’m young. Honestly, I should be offended. You think me capable of running a corrupt company?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You just hacked into my surrounding systems while I was trying to hack into </span> <span class="s2"><em>yours</em>. </span> <span class="s1">I think your capable of a lot of things.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Doesn’t matter. Tell Fury, if he’s so curious of a small tech company, he can come down here and investigate it himself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">He sounds young, and he said he was but, he sounds </span> </em> <span class="s1">really </span> <span class="s2"><em>young</em>, </span> <span class="s1">Tony thinks. “Just how old are you?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter stops to consider what he’s being asked. Should he tell the truth? It’s not like Tony Stark will care if he’s a minor. “I’m under 21, that’s all you need to know. I’m only using Matt as a front so I can register Alexo as a limited liability company.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony spins around in his chair, clicking his pen as he takes in the new information. “So, that’s the only reason? So you don’t get busted by the board?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes. That’s the only suspicious activity going on here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Huh. You’re an entrepreneur before 21? That’s impressive.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You would’ve been too. Regardless, are we good here?” Peter asks impatiently. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, we’re good. I’d like to meet you though. Maybe we can trade ideas, I can’t say I’m not interested in what technology you’re involved in.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">There’s another long pause. Tony can here the kid talking indistinctly to someone who must be in the room with him. “You’re on.” Shortly after the confirmation, he can hear him more clearly as he speaks to the other person, <em>‘</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">What? He’s </span> <span class="s1">ironman</span><span class="s2">!’ </span></em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tony laughs quietly. He knew when the kid said ‘under 21,’ he really meant ‘under 18,’ because you can’t run a company without a parent signing off on it until then. But despite that, he still can’t help but feel shocked that a </span> <span class="s2">teenager </span> <span class="s1">bypassed his procedures and protocols in such a short amount of time. “What’s you’re name, kid? You can trust me, I won’t tell Fury.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“... it’s Peter.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, Peter. Come to S.I. next Friday, we’ll talk. You’re interesting.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m a seventeen-year-old running a minor science and tech company talking to you through an interception my personal AI created. Of course you find me interesting. I’ll see you next Friday.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The static from before kicks up again, signally the coding Peter put in being rebooted and flushed out. He can hear Friday talking, now back up and running, but his mind is still on the unanticipated conversation he’d just had. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Seventeen, huh? This kid’s going places. </em> </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ahhhh I don’t know if I liked this. I wrote it literally all night. Like, I’m not kidding. It’s 7:14am and I haven’t gone to bed nor can I be bothered to proofread it. Ik it could’ve been better, but uh, deal with it 👉👈</p><p>Also, Peter’s more in character then I meant for him to be uhhh he was supposed to be like a complete loner, badass, no shit taking kind of guy and now he’s just normal Peter Parker with an IQ x20 and some trauma lol sorry don’t be mad at me &gt;.&lt;</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. No Shit, Ned</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Ur comments are so nice &gt;.&lt;<br/>P.S, I didn’t proofread so sorry hehe</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Peter runs his hand down his face as he processes what just happened. This is exactly why he avoided attracting any scientists when first building up the corporation. Plus, it’s kind of embarrassing for Tony to meet Karen, as she was built and coded while Peter was inspired by Jarvis, Tony’s old AI (of course, before the whole ‘I’m gonna take over the world’ thing).</p><p>
  <em>‘If I may, that was quite stupid, Peter.’</em>
</p><p>“<em>Thanks,</em> for that input, Karen,” He continues talking under his breathe, “God, why did I program you to be so sassy.” He turns to Adam, who was silently freaking out during the whole altercation. “That <em>was</em> stupid though, wasn’t it? He made me nervous! I was talking to Tony-freaking-Stark!” Peter drops his forehead to the top of his desk in mental agony. “Jesus, he knows my name and age...”</p><p>“Honestly,” Adam starts, “it wasn’t as bad as you think. He doesn’t know your last name, so as long as you don’t tell him on Friday, you’re good.” Adam scratches his ear before continuing, “Of course... he could always have his AI run facial recognition when you enter the building...”</p><p>Upon seeing Peter’s panicked face, he quickly backtracks, “But! He probably won’t. He said he’d keep it a secret anyways, so even if he did, it wouldn’t matter.”</p><p>“Yeah, I guess. And I mean, if he does, we can always ask Matt to help us sue him. I’m sure he broke a few laws by hacking into our systems, right?” He looks up to meet his favorite employee’s eyes.</p><p>Adam adverts his gaze as he delivers the bad news, “Except that he didn’t get all the way through and <em>you</em> did while he was distracted...”</p><p>Peter let’s his forehead crash onto the table once again as that very true factor is pointed out. “Whatever. I’m doomed. <em>What did I get myself into?”</em> He whines.</p><p>Adam looks for a way to cheer his boss/friend up, “If it’s any consolation, R&amp;D found out the irregularity on that project from before.”</p><p>“No need to be cryptic, I know you’re talking about the stupid coffee machine.” Peter almost dismisses the news, before asking quite pathetically, “So, uh... they fixed it?”</p><p>Adam lets out a laugh under his breath, “Yeah, they fixed it. Definitely a silver lining, don’t you think?”</p><p>Peter turns to look at him with his devastating puppy-dog eyes. “Do you maybe... wanna go, get me some?” He pushes out his bottom lip in plead. If anything can make him feel better, it’s a nice cup of coffee and maybe some paperwork or patrol to get the whole situation off his mind. He’s had a <em>bad</em> day. And he and Adam are friends, even though Peter’s technically his boss. Adam is only 20, so Peter feels no shame in acting like a kid or a needy friend in front of him.</p><p>He rolls his eyes. “Sure, thing. Be right back! Don’t off yourself before I get there. We can go over the input from lab 3.” He spins on his heels and raises his hand up in a subtle wave as he walks away.</p><p>God bless him. God bless <em>coffee</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Peter wakes up with spreadsheets sticking to his face and the morning glow coming from his office windows. He’d spent the remainder of his day updating security measures and going over employee notes with Adam. When it started getting dark he’d planned on wrapping things up and going on a short patrol, but it seems that didn’t happen as Karen had just informed him that it was almost time for school.</p><p>Peter quickly thanked her and stacked the papers he’d made a mess of in his sleep. When he had his jacket back on, he grabbed his backpack and left for his penthouse to change his clothes before heading to Midtown.</p><p>On the train ride there, Peter runs through the day prior slowly in his mind. <em>Tony Stark</em> wanted to meet him. This could be a problem. If Peter is wrong, and Tony actually <em>will</em> care that he’s a kid, then everything he’d kept so carefully hidden could unravel in just a couple hours. Not to mention Stark’s connection to Nick Furry. <span class="s1">Not to mention Stark’s connection to Nick Furry. He really doesn’t need SHEILD monitoring him as Spider-Man, and he definitely wants nothing to do with the accords— even if they </span><em><span class="s2">are </span></em><span class="s1">‘new and improved.’ </span>If Peter goes to the tower on Friday, there’s no guarantee that he won’t run into any other avengers. If it’s Clint or Natasha, they might be able to find information on him despite locking his public profile. Not to mention the fact that he didn’t even bother to hide Ben or May’s profile, his parents’, or even Gwen’s. But maybe, hopefully, it won’t matter.</p><p> </p><p>Soon enough, Peter reaches his high school and walks through the football field and onto the steps leading to the entrance with an anxiety tugging at the back of his neck. To avoid any conversation, he puts in his headphones and glues on a steely expression that says ‘don’t fuck with me.’</p><p>Unfortunately, Ned Leeds isn’t one to let a cold look stop him from talking to his best friend.</p><p>“Peter! Hey!” He raps Peter on the shoulder to get his attention at their lockers. “Is Angela okay? I heard you tell Harrington it was a family emergency. I tried calling you last night. By the way, what was that voice from your phone? Do you—“</p><p>“Ned. Stop. Breathe.” Peter’s shaken a little despite his calm exterior. He had totally forgotten about Karen notifying him in the middle of practice. Of course, it doesn’t matter if Ned knows. But the rest of the team? “Angela is fine.”</p><p>Ned takes a deep breathe as told before answering, “Okay.. so, what was the emergency?”</p><p>“False alarm.”</p><p>Ned stares at him for a moment. “False alarm? Then why didn’t you answer my calls?”</p><p>“...I fell asleep. Sorry.” Peter knows Ned is going to bring up the fact that he’d technically ditched him for seemingly no reason. But apparently, not right now. Because the bell rang then, and Peter excuses himself to class.</p><p> </p><p>All day. Peter had felt weighed down by the his constant lies <em>all day.</em> He thought he could handle it, but his mind is going a mile a minute <em>all the time</em> and he’s never felt so utterly alone. Everyone he loves gets hurt when he starts depending on them, but Ned and MJ are getting hurt too and they don’t even know it. It’s terrible. It’s ripping him apart. And no, he can’t handle it much longer. But at this point, where would he even start? His entire life is a lie. The only thing real about him at this point is his name. And as he walks into decathlon on tome for the second day in a row, he’s more disappointed by the shocked faces than amused. He’s sick of lying.</p><p>But, he knows it doesn’t matter, because there’s no way he won’t get questioned about yesterday. But he can’t do it. He can’t. So instead, Peter doesn’t say anything as he takes his seat at the stand. And he shrugs as a reply to every inquiry. He doesn’t look at anyone directly, and answers only the debate questions he asked. Peter wouldn’t even be there, if it weren’t for the disappointment he saw on Michelle yesterday. He tired of failing her. He’s tired of failing Ned. He chances a look at the both of them, and instantly wishes he hadn’t. Even still, Peter thinks, <em>Even </em>still<em> I’m letting them down.</em></p><p>It’s a bad day. The guilt is eating him alive, and something absolutely <em>has</em> to be done about it. He can’t let him spiral again, especially not since this is a problem that can be fixed.</p><p> </p><p>But in usual Peter style, by the time he gets home, he can’t be bothered to try. Rather, he sits down and does paperwork, <em>like every other day.</em> Then dawns his Spider-Man suit and goes on patrol for hours upon hours, fighting crime as recklessly as possible deep into the early hours of the next morning. Everything he does feels repetitive, because, well, it is. Peter feels trapped. And when he comes home with a copious amount of injuries that night, he makes a vow to to himself. He has to talk to somebody. He missed his chance to tell Ned, and MJ and him are barely even acquainted anymore. Something has to change.</p><p>So Peter doesn’t go to school the next day. He never got to fall asleep after patrol, despite how exhausted he is. He has Karen call him off, and stays awake in his room to think things over so his mind wasn’t so clouded all the time. <em>What should I do?</em></p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">~</span>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Peter’s been acting, differently.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“No shit, Ned.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">When Peter didn’t come to school, and after how he acted yesterday, his friends were pretty worried. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah, but. </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s1">So </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2">different. I’m not good at watching people like you. And I knew he’d be sad, if the summer was any indication. But it’s more than that. Have you noticed how, I don’t know, </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s1">cold </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2">he seems now?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">MJ stared at Ned. She put down her book as soon as he’d starting talking; it seemed like this was an actual important conversation. He hadn’t touched his food, and his forehead was creased in concern. Letting out a long sigh, she starts, “You have to understand, Peter’s been through a lot. We aren’t as close as we used to be, so no, I haven’t been able to figure him out if that’s what you’re asking. He like, purposely hides his emotions now. He </span>
  <span class="s1">is </span>
  <span class="s2">different. I barely know him anymore. I don’t know how </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s1">you</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2"> would. He’s not the same kid he was first year.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Ned was slightly surprised by how open MJ was being. Now that he thought about, she’s been looking pretty broken down herself. Was it Gwen? He never knew her really all that much, her and Peter hung out a lot more without him when they started dating. It hurt. But she was somewhat close with Michelle, he knew that. “Are you okay?” He blurted out. “It’s just that, I don’t know if I ever asked.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">MJ tried schooling her expression once again, but faltered a little. “Yeah. Home stuff, you know?” She bit her lip and looked down, before picking up her copy of </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s1">1984</span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2"> and going back to getting lost in it.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Michelle used to talk to Peter about ‘home stuff.’ Whatever that meant. Ned had no idea what her home life was like. Maybe, he really didn’t know either of them at all? Both of his friends seemed to keep becoming more distant as the days went by. And suddenly, Ned began to feel crushingly lonely. But also angry at the same time. He wished Peter would just </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s1">talk </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2">to him, and he almost did the other day. But it’s like he’s carrying the world on his shoulders. Ned first noticed this two years ago, and chalked the tension in his features down to losing Ben. And when it deepened, he figured it was because of May. And it could be. But for the first time, Ned thought that maybe there was more to it. He hasn’t hung out with Ned in months, and even before that, they hung out like less than once a week. Maybe MJ was right, he </span>
  <em>
    <span class="s1">didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span class="s2">really know Peter. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry this chapter is like devastatinglyyy short 😬 it’s kind of a filler. I’ll post the next chapter in a day or two and make it pretty long to make up for it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Isn’t It A Little Early To Be Drinking?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the wait &gt;.&lt;</p><p>also: TRIGGER WARNING! The end of this chapter carries implication to domestic/ child abuse and some really harsh words are said. If you want to skip past that part, look for the ****</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The loud pulling of curtains is what wakes Peter up around noon. He hadn’t realized he’d fallen asleep, but as he squints his eyes open and sees the dust flying around in the ray of light escaping from his windows, he’s unsurprised to see Matt Murdock sitting in the chair opposite his bed, casually sipping a cup of coffee. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You didn’t go to school today.” Matt starts. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. How did you know that anyways?” Peter sits up and stretches his arms as he stares at his friend quizzically. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Matt only takes another sip of his coffee, and ominously says, “Doesn’t matter. Something’s wrong. So go dressed. We’re going out for lunch and you’re going to talk about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">There was no room for argumentation, and even though the </span> <em><span class="s2">last </span></em> <span class="s1">thing Peter feels like doing is leaving his room, he gets up regardless. Matt had been there for him when he felt like he was losing all control in his life, and honestly, Peter really did need a second opinion. In all the hours he stayed up to mull over the possibilities, he still had nothing. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter grabs his leather jacket and puts on his shoes, continuing the conversation from where it left off. “How </span> <em><span class="s2">did </span></em> <span class="s1">you know I didn’t go today?”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Karen alerted me.” Matt replies while looking disinterestedly at his phone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What the hell? Why? I didn’t authorize that.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“No, but me and Adam convinced her that it didn’t violate any protocols, and honestly you made her so human she actually </span> <em><span class="s2">worries </span></em> <span class="s1">about you. So, now she alerts me.” He clicks his phone off and starts heading for the door. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter groaned, throwing his head into his hands. He makes a mental note to change the setting, but knows he probably won’t. He then has Karen turn off all the lights before locking the door and following Matt down the hall. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the elevator, the older pushes his hands in his pockets and crosses his legs. “So, where do you want to go?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter thinks about for half a minute before answering, “Sister Margaret’s.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Matt laughed, “I was thinking something more like a quiet coffee shop.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span><span class="s1">If you’re gonna make me talk about my problems like a shrink, I’d at least like to do it in a place that amuses me. </span>Watching big guys kill each other is lot more funny then it sounds.”</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can imagine.” Matt tightens his tie as the elevator comes to a stop and they start the walk to Hell’s Kitchen. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">When they get to the bar, a lot of eyes follow Peter as he walks in with Matt. Now </span> <span class="s2"><em>that</em> </span> <span class="s1">is amusing. What’s a kid doing in a merc bar? He came a lot over the summer, the bartender having no problem serving to Peter despite his age, because, well, It’s not like just anybody can walk in. When he first came, a lot of guys tried telling him a kid shouldn’t be there. One guy especially, tried to </span> <em><span class="s2">show </span></em> <span class="s1">Peter that sentiment. And so, there was a bar fight. After only five minutes, the mercenary was lying on the floor in pain with shards of glass sticking out of his scalp. With everyone watching him, Peter simply stepped over him and made his way to the bar. He was pretty well respected after that. He spent a lot of time there. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But still, there was some people who didn’t know him. Wether they’re knew, or had just not been there at the same time as him, there was always at least one person who’d say something. And it was always hilarious. Because either Peter got to beat the shit out of them, or a friend warned them not to start anything. He even came in with Wade once, so if Peter didn’t exactly fit the description of the type of people allowed in (uh, killers), his cold personality and friend in Wade gave him a free pass (plus, Peter may not kill anyone, but you’d be surprised what some can live through). And he’s glad it did, because Sister Margaret’s quickly became one of his favorite places. It was exhilarating to not give a shit as Peter Parker rather than as Spider-Man, and he actually made quite a few acquaintances at the dive bar. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So as Peter (a teenager) and Matt (a blind man) sit down, it’s definitely an odd sight amongst the many burly and tattooed mercenaries. But Peter stands back up for a moment to bro-hug a bald and bearded guy named Bob (honestly, probably an alias), and the few lingering stares dissipate. Matt and him are left to their own devices. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They don’t even serve real food here.” Matt wrinkles his nose, but seems delighted Peter is outside all the same. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We can stop at McDonald’s or something afterwards. I just like it here.” Peter says as he waves down Kelly, the waitress. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Matt ‘looks’ around the bar comically, lifting his eyebrows as if to point out that literally </span> <span class="s2">any </span> <span class="s1">other teenager wouldn’t even step foot in a mile radius of this place. Peter only shrugs and asks for a whiskey neat. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“One drink won’t hurt. I’m stressed as fuck.” Kelly is back quickly with the alcohol and Peter thanks her as he takes a sip. “Which is, probably what you wanted to talk about. So Matt, why’re we here?” He sets down the glass and folds his hands in front of himself on the table. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ignoring the slight sass, Matt starts. “You’ve been in school for less than a week, and you’re already skipping.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span><span class="s2"><em>So</em>, </span> <span class="s1">is everything </span> <em><span class="s2">okay?”</span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter takes a long swig. “Yep.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The lawyer runs is hands through his hair before sighing deeply. “Peter, I’m not gonna tell you what to do. But me and Wade knew you over the summer, and you were a mess.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter sighed too, knowing exactly what Matt was getting at. It’s hard to let people in sometimes, but this is </span> <span class="s2"><em>Matt</em>. </span> <span class="s1">So Peter reasons with himself before finishing his drink, waving down Kelly for another, and beginning to tell his friend about the stresses of the past week. He talked about Flash briefly, the confusion revolving around MJ, and his dilemma of telling Ned everything. Matt silently nodded along until Peter got to the part involving a certain billionaire...</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Tony Stark</em> tried hacking Alexo?” He whisper-yelled over the table. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, he, um. He wants to me to go to SI next Friday.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Matt grimaced a little. “Well, are you going to?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know. Maybe.” Peter swirled the last of the Jack Daniels he had in his second cup around before drinking it. “Probably. I mean it’s a good business opportunity if nothing else.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Peter it’s </span> <span class="s2"><em>dangerous</em>.</span> <span class="s1"> What if he finds out who you are?”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He won’t. I’m better at hiding than that. Well, when I try at least. I’ll just act like how I did freshman year.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Matt didn’t know Peter before Gwen. He’s only known the Peter of now, but didn’t ask what he used to be like anyway. That’s another thing Peter really appreciated about him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They talked for a little more about that topic, then Peter switched to talking about Ned. He explained how he’s known him for years, and trusts him with his life. And Matt didn’t even wait to hear the end of his monologue before advising that he tell Ned if he wants to. Although, it <em>did</em> seem Matt was a little apprehensive. Peter silently wondered if Matt’s ever told anybody close about Daredevil.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were leaving the bar a little over an hour after entering. Peter was three drinks in, but was only buzzed rather than drunk thanks to his heightened metabolism. They walked back to the penthouse, stopping to get a couple hot dogs from a stand on the way. Peter talked about Michelle shortly, but Matt was at a loss just as much as Peter. Really, neither understood women or had much luck with them other than the occasional bimbo. The smart ones were a lot more intimidating.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Peter was back home and Matt had left, he really did find himself feeling better. He called up Adam, and they hung out for a little while before going to the office and falling into their usual routine of approving or denying project ideas from employees and the board. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">Stark Industries</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">Thursday, August 25th, 2:57pm</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So!” Tony Stark claps his hands together loudly as he looks at the group of superheroes sitting in front of him. “What do we got?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As esoteric as ever.” Clint mumbles under his breathe to Natasha before rolling his eyes and turning to Tony head on. “Got on what?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Spider-Man, bird brain.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why are you so adamant on recruiting him?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wanda answers Sam’s question before Tony could, “We need a stealth specialist besides Nat and Clint if we’re gonna infiltrate Hydra efficiently.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re stealthy?” Steve says, or more like asked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, yes and no. I can mess with their minds but it’s a lot harder when they’re all brainwashed or trained to resist.” She shrugs then gets up and leaves the room. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony watches her go for a second then waves his hands sporadically to bring the attention back in him. “Alright, alright. Back to the topic at hand, did anyone do their homework?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He stopped a couple street thefts and robberies, but to be honest I didn’t look further than the news and Twitter.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s Twitter?” Bucky asks quietly. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Rhodey turns his attention from Tony to Bucky and mouths ‘later.’</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He busted another alien-tech gang too.” Clint helpfully adds. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They add little unimportant details like saving cats out of trees, helping old ladies cross the street, and bringing a lost child to their mother. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wanda’s back with a blown-up packet of popcorn. “Hey, I was actually out getting take out last night and I saw him helping a woman who was being held at gunpoint in an ally. Thing is though, he was making a ton of wise-cracks and seemed pretty reckless? I don’t know.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“And you’re only mentioning this </span> <em><span class="s2">now?</span></em> <span class="s1">” Tony asks slightly exasperated. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shakes the bag of popcorn before opening it, looking at Tony innocently and popping some in her mouth. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, whatever. So this is what we have then. He can climb walls, probably has super strength, webbing that can incapacitate an unfriendly effectively—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You know, where </span> <em><span class="s2">does </span></em> <span class="s1">his webbing come from? You think it’s in his suit? Or like, coming from his </span> <em><span class="s2">body?</span></em> <span class="s1">” Sam interjects unhelpfully. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">There was a chorus of <em>‘</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">gross’</span> </em> <span class="s1">and <em>‘</em></span> <em> <span class="s2">ew’</span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>s</em> before Tony silenced them and continued. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And apparently, he can be reckless. We don’t know his age, he hangs with a mercenary and the devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Which, I understand are red flags. But overall, how do we feel?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The team carefully consider things to themselves for a moment before voicing their opinions. The response was a lot better than the last time they discussed Queen’s resident vigilante. Mostly everyone agreed that they should at least meet him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">For the ones who didn’t, Steve dished out an important factor in his decision-making. “We’re focusing on the covert missions, but really, they’re not that important.” He was interrupted by a couple grunts of disagreement before continuing, “No, listen. Yeah, those display his skill level, but his day stuff shows his personality. The Good Samaritan stuff. How many of you would help get a cat out of a </span> <em><span class="s2">tree? </span></em> <span class="s1">You wouldn’t even think of it, right? That shows character.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a good point. Everyone was silent, but were looking at Tony expectantly. It was clear they’d made up their minds. “Let’s not approach him right away,” he pauses, double checking that he read the situation correctly. When nobody objected he continued, “When we locate the next Hydra operative, we’ll ask him to come. It’s more likely that he’ll help on a whim.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah maybe, but what if we wait and then he says he’s busy or something? I don’t know, he probably has a life outside of being Spider-Man considering the fact that he never patrols between 6am and 3pm on weekdays.” Natasha added. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I never even thought about that. You think he has a day job?” Sam asked. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s possible.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tony deliberated this. “How ‘bout this, we’ll ask the night before. If he </span> <em><span class="s2">does </span></em> <span class="s1">have a job, he’ll have enough time to take a sick-day.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s assuming he even comes. What if he turns us down?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then we don’t need him. Hydra’s deep, dark, and evil. If he doesn’t want to help bring them down, then his morals aren’t nearly high enough to help us anyway.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With that thought in mind, the meeting ends and they all go back to what they were previously doing. Clint playing Mario Kart, trying to teach Steve how to play. Rhodey finally explaining Twitter to Bucky, and Natasha goes back to the gym. Sam, Wanda, and Dr. Banner all follow Tony down to the lab for repairments to their gear. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">1600 Broadway Ph5d, NY</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">Thursday, August 25th, 10:48pm</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter had gotten home from the office fairly late, but not as late as he’s been in the past. It was around eleven o’clock when he’d finally gotten to lay back down on his bed. But, unfortunately (or fortunately), he heard some fishy conversations happening on the street below his penthouse. Sighing loudly and cursing the open window and his super-hearing, Peter leans out into the open air and looks down at the ally below. The side window in his bedroom didn’t have a view of anything other than the building next door, which was helpful in aiding that no ones sees him climb in as Spider-Man. What he saw, was about four guys decked out in black with handguns, cornering a fifth guy to the wall. Quickly, Peter put on his Spidey suit and jumped out the window, free-falling six stories before webbing the guns out of two of the men’s hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> The victim took the distraction as an opportunity to run. One of the still-standing guys was aiming to shoot their target, and Peter took a break from beating up the other man to make sure he missed. He webbed the firearm to the brick wall, along with the man who once carried it to ensure the escape of the younger guy. But regrettably, Peter realized he should’ve been a little less reckless a little too late. The man he’d turn away from in favor of saving the victim wasn’t as infirm as Peter had suspected. Clearly, as Peter now how a bullet in his side. Crying out in pain, he doubled over before regaining himself and hastily webbing the last guy (throwing him </span> <span class="s2">a <em>lot harder </em></span> <span class="s1">than necessary) to the wall. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter had Karen inform the police. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘</span> <span class="s2">NYPD as been notified. Peter, you’re losing quite a lot of blood.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“No, </span> <em><span class="s2">shit</span></em><span class="s1">, Karen!” He presses down hard, wincing as scolding hot blood seeped past his fingers. “Okay, okay. Sorry, that was mean. Okay.” Peter held his breath before webbing the wound to keep pressure on it. It hurt like a </span> <em><span class="s2">bitch,</span></em><span class="s1"> but it would work for the moment. He points his web-shooters up and catapults himself to the side of his building. Almost slipping off due to the pain, Peter gets ahold of himself and climbs up and through his window (he’ll have to make a mental note to clean up the inevitable bloody handprints that must be all over the outside walls from the climb). </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stumbled in, falling harshly on his back. It was getting hard to breathe, so Peter pulls off his mask and makes his way to the bathroom. Taking the webbing off and pressing down on the wound once again, He starts frantically  opening every drawer in the bathroom searching for the first-aid kit he’d put in there specifically for something like this. Although, it would’ve been a lot more helpful if he’d remembered which drawer it was in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Getting slightly dizzy, Peter sits on the floor and whips open the kit once he’d found it in a cabinet. </span> <em><span class="s2">God, this was gonna suck. </span></em> <span class="s1">He puts the mask back on. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Karen. Do me a favor and tell me how far the bullets in.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em><span class="s1">‘</span> <span class="s2">About two inches deep. You’re very lucky, none of your internal organs have been punctured.’ </span></em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah? Well it still hurts like hell.” He takes the mask back off and puts it in his mouth to ensure he keeps quiet. Then he grabs tweezers from the kit and begins searching for the bullet in the open wound. And, as expected, it hurt so bad Peter was seeing white. When he finally reached the bullet, the searing pain only worsened until he pulled it out. It felt better for all of two seconds, where he was able to catch his breath before going in with stitches immediately after to avoid his rapid healing from closing the wound incorrectly and scarring. When that was done, he yanked the needle and broke the thread. Peter had just enough time to hit the center of his suit to loosen it and wrap his torso in a tight bandage, before promptly passing out from the exhaustion and pain. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He woke up later in a cold sweat and covered in dry blood to Karen alerting him that someone was at his door. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">
  <strong>**** until end </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">W 49th St Apartment Complex, Room 219</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">Thursday, August 25th, 12:01am</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Michelle Jones dodges before a plate shatters on the wall, but doesn’t flinch. It’s just another day. There were a lot of things people didn’t know about her, but the scars under her clothes carried her deepest secret. Her mom met a guy named James a couple years ago, saying he could help them financially even if he had a drinking problem, so, </span> <span class="s2">‘be nice.’ </span> <span class="s1">She really should’ve told that to </span> <span class="s2">James. </span> <span class="s1">Because every night he came home drunk, was another night Michelle spent in her room. Alone, crying, and in pain. But, her mother married him anyways. He ‘stopped drinking,’ but really, he just drank </span> <span class="s2">less</span><span class="s1">, and hid a flask in his jacket pocket. Things were quiet for a while, but clearly, not long enough. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You pathetic excuse of a daughter! You’re a </span> <span class="s2">slut! </span> <span class="s1">A worthless </span> <span class="s2">whore! </span> <span class="s1">You don’t do anything to help out around here—“ James continued throwing plates, empty beer bottles, and anything else he could get his hands on. He even ripped out pages and ruined the book Michelle was currently reading, </span> <span class="s2">1984. </span> <span class="s1">“What is this shit? Why are you wasting your time </span> <span class="s2">reading </span> <span class="s1">when you could be making us money?”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">James says a lot of things. He often brings up the idea of Michelle selling her body. Says it’s the only thing she’s good for. He pulls her hair a lot, saying it’s ugly like her mom’s. He says she’s unlovable, stupid, deadbeat, dirty. And Michelle, well, she takes it. Because she has to. If she tells her mom, James will kill her. And she’s been ‘conditioned’ enough times to know that </span> <span class="s2">he just might. </span> <span class="s1">Then in the morning, when James is hungover and tired, he’ll apologize for drinking. Only to go back out that night and get wasted again. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But really, MJ was used to it. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I have a kind of ‘writers block’ rn so this chapter and the next few I have prewritten seem kinda rushed :/ but I can’t fix it bc idk how to so sry pls bear w me 🙏</p><p>Also, does it look stupid when I add the locations like that? Should I stop doing it?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. I’m Sorry</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Whoa whoa whoa<br/>I have SO many plans for this story but I already knows it’s gonna be a complettteee mess. Please bear with me people, I usually write like dead in the middle of the night sooo I’m not even all the way there when I make these chapters. But listen!! I’m gonna TRY to get in everything I want for this story, but I 100% guarantee that it’ll probably follow the flimsiest plot line you’ve ever seen</p><p>—</p><p>Ok so pls don’t be mad at me 🥺 idk, this chapter just kinda HAPPENED. But it sets up a lot for later on.. so...</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(A/n: a little recap w/ more details on MJs part. Abuse implied/ mentioned, please skip to the second **** if it’s triggering)</span>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<strong>****</strong>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">James has been coming home meaner, and smelling strongly of whiskey and tequila. With her mom working third shift, it’s become a lot less manageable. Still, Michelle never thought he’d actually </span><em> <span class="s2">hit </span></em> <span class="s1">her again. It hasn’t been this bad in a while. The last time she feared her own home was a little over a year ago. He’d stopped drinking, and MJ thought that maybe things could be okay. Clearly, she was wrong. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he came home late at night, Michelle was making a snack in the kitchen. He spotted her immediately, and started yelling in convoluted sentences. Complaining about his job, his life, and most of all, her. He threw things and spat as he talked, hissing harsh words and slurred insults and when MJ tried to scramble away, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back. She was scared. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">MJ didn’t want to stay home, knowing this old tale would play out exactly as before, but she didn’t have anywhere else to go anymore. When he finally raised a hand to her though, Michelle needed </span> <span class="s2"><em>out</em>. </span> <span class="s1">She hurriedly pushed him away from her, hard, and luckily he was too drunk to catch his balance as quickly as he might’ve when sober. Taking her chance, Michelle grabbed her phone off the corner of the kitchen table, and </span> <em><span class="s2">bolted</span></em> <span class="s1"> out the door. </span></p><p class="p2">
  <strong>****</strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Which is how she ended up standing outside of Peter Parker’s penthouse a couple minutes after midnight. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">She was surprised, naturally, to learn that he lived in such a nice place. She knew May, and had been to their small apartment in Queens. She’d come whenever things were bad at home, and May was the sweetest person Michelle had ever had the pleasure to meet. When she passed, Peter gave his new address to MJ<em> ‘</em></span><span class="s2"><em>just in case’</em> </span> <span class="s1">and said she’s still welcome to come if she ever needed too. Of course, things were okay at the time, so she never did end up going. She eventually forgot all about it; when her and Peter stopped talking, the option seemed ludicrous. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Then when her step dad started drinking again, she considered it. But again, it would be weird. </span> <em><span class="s2">Right? </span></em> <span class="s1">It was a mutual distancing neither of them really meant to happen, and after Gwen, they lost all contact in general. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">But had he said she was welcome. And Michelle, well, she believed him. And she just </span> <em><span class="s2">really </span></em> <span class="s1">needed a place to go. Hopefully, his cousin Angela is as dependable as May was. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">When she knocked on the door, there was no answer. And after knocking twice more, MJ suddenly realized how stupid she must seem. Standing outside (her distant past-friend) Peter Parker’s door, in her ratty pajamas, in the middle of the night.<em> ‘</em></span><span class="s2"><em>Maybe I should’ve called?’</em> </span> <span class="s1">She thinks. When there was no answer for a couple more minutes, she turns on her heels in chagrin, ready to leave the expensive and privileged building and go back home despite the stinging behind her eyes at the thought of it. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luckily, she doesn’t get very far. The door swings open and her eyes meet a tired and disheveled Peter. “MJ?” He calls out in a deep,husky voice. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michelle only looks at him, and he scans her up and down for a second before worry creeps onto the features of his (bruised?) face and he side steps in the doorway to let her in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry it’s messy, I wasn’t expecting company.” He says as he picks up stray materials lying around and hastily closing the bathroom door for some reason. “You can just, uh, leave your shoes by the door. Um, do you need anything? Tea? Hot chocolate?” Peter nervously rambles. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The apartment is </span> <em><span class="s2">beautiful</span></em><span class="s1">, in her opinion. She takes a good look around as she takes off her shoes. The sleek counters of the kitchen and the expertly furnished living room can be seen from her spot at the entrance. Looking back at Peter, she realizes he’s waiting for a reply. So, she answers softly, “black tea, if you have it.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He quickly nods his head and leaves to the kitchen, motioning for her to follow. “You can uh, make yourself comfortable. My cousin’s not here, so don’t worry.” With the tea brewing, he leads MJ to the couch in the open living room, before handing her the TV remote and some blankets. When they were both comfortably situated and Netflix was playing a show neither were paying attention to, he finally takes a moment to breathe and really look at her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s a mess. It looks like she’d been crying, her hair is tussled by the wind from the walk over, and a light blush is painted over her face in either embarrassment or anxiety, Peter wasn’t sure which. When she meets his gaze, he licks his lips and questions softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And Michelle, she can’t stand the deep concern in Peter’s eyes. She’s been ignoring him, and she herself’s not even sure why. She’d been upset when he didn’t answer all summer, but she also understood that he’d been even closer to Gwen then she was. So, Michelle didn’t blame him. But when school started back up, and she’d seen him again for the first time in months, she felt a strong resentment. Maybe, it was because she wasn’t as over being ignored by one of the few people she actually opened herself up to in the past as she thought. Or maybe, it was because he seemed like a totally different person. But right now, seeing the way he was looking at her, and the way he always so eagerly wants to help never mind </span> <em><span class="s2">anything </span></em> <span class="s1">he’s been going through, completely unravels her. So instead of answering, Michelle curtly shakes her head and tries to fight back the tears that spring to her eyes and threaten to spill over. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">But Peter instantly wrapped his arms around her, and whispered breathily, <em>“</em></span><em><span class="s2">it’s okay to cry. </span></em> <span class="s1">Please MJ, don’t feel like you have to hold back. You don’t have to say anything. Just cry.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And she does. She cries for what seemed like hours into the crook of Peter’s neck, and regardless of how </span> <span class="s2">long </span> <span class="s1">it’s been since they’ve done this, and how </span> <span class="s2"><em>different</em> </span> <span class="s1">things are now, she’s eternally grateful for Peter Parker. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sits there with her for a while, both cocooned in blankets as he runs her fingers through her hair until her sobbing settles into light sniffling. The tea long forgotten and cold, Peter hugs her a little tighter and they stay in silence until they fall asleep to the sound of Friends playing in the background. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michelle snuggles into a soft material as she comes to. It must be morning now. She can tell by the whistling of birds coming from outside and the light color she can see through her closed eyelids. Shuffling a little, she panics and sits up quickly as she realizes she’s not in her own bed. Eyes wide, MJ assess her surroundings before the happenings of last night hit her at the same time as a terrible headache. Laying back down, she pushes her hair out of her face and huffs. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good morning.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michelle turns to look at Peter with a hand shielding her eyes from the morning sun peeking through the wall of windows. It’s then that she notices the smell of freshly brewed coffee and pancakes coming from the stove of the kitchen. She looks away and rubs her eyes tiredly before once again sitting up, this time more slowly. “Do you have any aspirin?” Her voice comes out broken and strangled, but Peter seemed to understand her all the same. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns from his spot at the island, and opens a cabinet to his right. A second later, there’s a cup of cold water and a couple pills in Michelle’s hands. “I took the liberty of making breakfast,” he chuckles lightly, “an emotional hangover feels just about the same as a normal one, so I figured you’d appreciate it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">MJ sets the water down on the table near the couch, then wraps a blanket around herself until she resembles a burrito. She wobbles over to the seat at the island, and Peter simultaneously places a plate in front of her. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What time is it?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“A little after eight.” He answers distractedly as he places food on her plate and on his own. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How do you take it?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Michelle nods her head as she bites into a bit of avocado toast, and hums approvingly. She looks to what Peter’s referring to, and tells him she takes her coffee with two creams and two sugars. He starts preparing it, and after a beat MJ questions, “Isn’t this a lot?” as she looks down at her piled up plate. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns back to her and places the hot coffee on a coaster. “Maybe. Honestly, I’m not really sure what you like anymore. So, I kinda just, made everything.” He scratches the nape of his neck as he takes a seat next to her. She shrugs and they both begin eating in silence. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“About last night...” Michelle starts as they both finished off their meal. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“MJ, you really don’t have to—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I want to.” She cuts him off. Peter takes a deep breathe and nods for her to continue. She hesitates a moment before continuing, “So, he only just recently started drinking again. Things were fine... for a while. But, my mom is working third shift and now when he comes home I’m the only one there. And well, I really appreciate you letting my stay here last night.” MJ finishes the confession quickly. She may be guarded off, but with Peter it was always different. She’d talk with him whenever something bothered her, and he always new what to say. The rift between them affected her more than she thought, and maybe opening up again could fix it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“It’s no problem,” he answers immediately; seriously, “I said you could come whenever, and I meant it. Even if it </span> <em><span class="s2">was </span></em> <span class="s1">over a year ago, I’m actually really glad you came.” There’s an underlying tone that Michelle doesn’t miss. He’s really saying she’s glad she came despite their falling out. Because he still worries. And the thought of that immensely warmed her. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sighing deeply, she delicately apologizes. “I’m sorry.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter looks at her for a moment, analyzing her features before frowning. “For what?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“... Well, I—“ Michelle doesn’t know where to start. She’s not entirely sure why she blurted that out, but maybe it’s the perfect segway to fixing things. “I </span> <em><span class="s2">missed</span></em> <span class="s1"> this. And over the summer, I knew where I could find you, even if I told myself I didn’t remember. And I knew you were hurting. I feel like it’s partially my fault that we aren’t really as close as we used to be, and I don’t know why I—“</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter cuts off the rapid apology before she can get everything out. “Hey, </span> <em><span class="s2">nothing’s </span></em> <span class="s1">your fault.” He shakes his head as she breathes out in annoyance for not letting her finish. “Seriously. Don’t apologize. You reached out, and </span> <em><span class="s2">I </span></em> <span class="s1">didn’t answer. I was really messed up, but that was no excuse to avoid you or Ned. Let’s just, put it behind us, okay?” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">MJ nods warily and the conversation ends there as she sips her coffee. It was comfortable, and she basks in the fervor of contentment. It was almost odd that she had felt so undeniably low last night, and this morning with Peter, it seemed like a new beginning. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They spend the rest of the morning lounging around, watching tv and MJ commenting on the beautiful view. She asks what Angela does, but Peter simply shrugged. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Where </span> <em><span class="s2">is</span></em> <span class="s1"> your cousin anyway?”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He glances at her for a second before looking down. Almost like he’s nervous. He opens his mouth to talk, before promptly shutting it again. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter?” Michelle furrows her eyebrows, bewildered by his sudden apprehensiveness. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks back up, and pokes his tongue into his cheek in contemplation, before belatedly, “MJ, you’ve always been honest with me,” he starts. She slowly nods her head in agreement, and Peter continues. “So, I’m sorry. I’m a liar. I lie, in almost every conversation, and I lie about who I am and I what I do and, well, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He turns away from her, and Michelle is slightly frantic. </span> <em><span class="s2">Who he is? What he does? </span></em> <span class="s1">She’s going through every interaction she’s had with him in her head, picking apart every sentence he’s ever said, and she’s so beyond confused she doesn’t even know what he could possibly mean by that. So she inhales sharply, and tells him to explain. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he’s definitely nervous. She can tell. “I meant to tell Ned the night I left that day at decathlon.” MJ nods her head in memory. He fidgets between looking at her, his hands, and basically everywhere else before he pushes up from the couch and paces while he talks. “Okay, listen. There is no Angela. This is my place. I forged the documents so I wouldn’t have to go into foster care, and I really don’t even need to be in high school because I’ve qualified for MIT for quite a while,” once he starts, Peter realizes he can’t stop. It’s like the floodgates have finally opened and they’re too strong to hold anymore. Michelle already looks startled and her faced is laced with questions, but he keeps going. “I’m not going because I’m hiding from CPS, and because I missed you and Ned, and because, well, I— I have a lot of responsibilities in New York.” He pauses to catch his breath, and MJ takes that moment to her full advantage.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Peter! Peter, </span> <em><span class="s2">stop!</span> </em> <span class="s2"><em>What</em> </span> <span class="s1">are you saying? You </span> <span class="s2">forged </span> <span class="s1">official documents? You live by </span> <em> <span class="s2">yourself? </span> </em> <span class="s1">How can you even afford this place?” She’s now standing up too— gesturing around herself at the expensive apartment. She then walks up to Peter and places her hands on both his shoulders before asking seriously, “Responsibilities? Are you involved in... something? Like, something serious?” MJ’s eyes were flickering between both of Peter’s, searching for any kind of answer.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He scoffs and gently shrugs her hands off of his shoulders. “Jesus, why does everyone think that?” He says under his breathe while running his fingers through his hair. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">“</span><span class="s2">Everyone? </span></em> <span class="s1">Who else knows?”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter pauses once again. “Um, well— God, I don’t even know where to start. Basically I— um, this guy— no, that’s not right.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Peter. Just answer me </span> <em><span class="s2">honestly.</span></em><span class="s2">”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, Tony Stark. And like, a couple other people.” He answers shyly; dubiously. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Michelle’s mind is whirring. Who even </span> <em><span class="s2">is </span></em> <span class="s1">Peter Parker? “Tony Stark? Like, like </span> <em><span class="s2">the </span></em> <span class="s1">Tony Stark? Why the </span> <em><span class="s2">hell</span></em> <span class="s1"> do you know him?”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t! Not really!” Peter throws his hands up in a surrendering motion, “When I left decathlon that day, it was because he was breaking down my firewalls at Alexo, and I had Karen get me in contact with him over the phone.. kinda? And that’s all, I’ve never even really met him.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“What the </span> <em><span class="s2">fuck </span></em> <span class="s1">are you saying? </span> <span class="s2">Peter</span> <span class="s1"> I- </span> <em><span class="s2">what?</span></em> <span class="s1"> Alexo? And, like, who’s Karen? I don’t even, oh my god!” MJ pushes on her forehead and takes an unsettling seat back on the couch. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s um, she’s an AI.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“An AI? You, why would you need an AI? How do you even know how to build one?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was so much to explain, and so much he still hasn’t said. Peter knew he had a lot of secrets, but he was so used to it that he didn’t even really realize just how <em>much</em> he hasn’t been honest about. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I told you.” He takes a deep, defeated breath, “I’m a liar.” Peter sits back down next to Michelle and throws his head back as he closes his eyes and covers his mouth. “I’m so sorry.” He says, slightly muffled by his hand. “I should’ve told you guys everything from the beginning, but once I started I couldn’t stop and the lies just kept building up until it felt like no one even really knew me.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">MJ stares at him. The bags under his eyes, and the crease between his eyebrows. She glimpses around the apartment one more time, and takes yet another deep breath. </span> <em><span class="s2">I shouldn’t be mad</span></em><span class="s1">, she reasons with herself. She didn’t notice it before, but Peter really did look so incredibly worn-thin these days. “Just, tell me now. From the beginning. I want to know everything. Don’t leave a single detail out.” </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And so, Peter told her. He told her about the field trip to Oscorp (which was especially nerve racking. He’s never actually </span> <span class="s2">told</span> <span class="s1"> anyone about Spider-Man before), he told her about Ben, he told her about how his father’s research led him to Conners. He told her how he starting selling inventions after May passed, and how he built up Alexo Industries. He told her how Gwen found out, and he told her about... how he wasn’t fast enough. How he forged and locked his files, and about his spiral in depression </span>all summer (leaving out the parts about drugs/alcohol. He didn’t want to make her anymore mad, especially with James taking up drinking again. It might scare her most of all), and about the recent events involving Tony Stark. Peter told her everything. And she just listened quietly, for the entirety of it. When his monologue finally came to and end, MJ continued to stay silent for a long while.</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry.” Peter whispers again; voice cracking and on the verge of tears. As for Michelle, she has absolutely no idea what to say to that. So instead, she shakily pulls Peter into a hug. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter—“ but still, she doesn’t know where to start. Although, one thing’s been weighing on her mind, and she decides to begin there. “Gwen... I can’t even imagine that.” It hurts MJ to talk about, and she has so many mixed emotions. She’s mad at Peter for getting her involved, but she also knows that Gwen was too stubborn to not be. “It’s not your fault.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And at that, Peter officially breaks down into tears. It’s like the complete opposite of yesterday. There’s been so many emotions and confessions shared in the past twelve hours, and everything seemed so rushed and nothing has settled in yet. She’s so overwhelmed. But Peter, he’s been bottling so much up for so long. And that’s another thing leaving her devastated. She’s angry that he’s lied about </span> <span class="s2">so </span> <span class="s1">much, but Michelle can’t help but feel heartbroken as she stares down at Peter. Curled up, crying, apologizing. She’s never seen him so utterly </span> <span class="s2"><em>lost.</em> </span> <span class="s1">And the whole experience seems to kind of numb her. She wants to leave, but would never allow herself to do so. Not after he just spilled his guts to her. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So she stays. And when he calms down, they talk for hours and hours until late that Saturday night. Michelle texted her mom, saying she was at Peter’s and was going to spend another night. And while MJ has never felt more betrayed, shes also never felt more close to someone. In just under twenty-four hours, she learned everything there is to Peter Parker, and he learned likewise. It’s uncanny, that just two days ago, she and him couldn’t have been further apart. But now, she’s beginning to feel that old (yet familiar) glow in her chest, melting the ice around heart like it would do every time she saw Peter freshman year. It’s so hard to stay mad at someone when you love them that much. It’s so hard to stay mad at your best friend. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">When Peter finally fell asleep, Michelle stayed up much later. She didn’t know how long she sat absentmindedly carding her fingers through his hair, thinking over every new detail she’d just been given. It was a </span> <span class="s2"><em>lot</em>. </span> <span class="s1">Who’s life could possibly be that crazy? She had so many mixed emotions. It also felt wrong that he told her before he told Ned. It’s great that Peter trusted her so much still, and being important to someone filled her with a burning sensation of pride. And after feeling so alone over the past year, she really was glad that Peter was back in her life almost as if they’d never stopped being best friends. </span> <em><span class="s2">Where am I even going with this? </span></em> <span class="s1">Michelle’s mind was muddled. There were so many things to think about, she didn’t even know where to start. Peter is </span> <em><span class="s2">Spider-Man?</span></em> <span class="s1">That one really hit her like a truck. She’s seen the news, seen the damage he takes and the blood and the dangerous ‘missions’ he does. Seen him with Deadpool and Daredevil. And the deep depression... it’s to be expected, considering everyone he’s lost. But still, actually hearing him confirm it almost broke her heart. She knows her demons too well, and would never wish her best friend to have to swim with them too. Should she worry about that, or the evil villains he seemed to fight daily? It felt like she was sitting on a pile of government secrets. So many illegal actions; so much classified information. </span> <em><span class="s2">This is Peter’s </span></em><span class="s1">life</span><em><span class="s1">?</span><span class="s2"> Why the hell would he want this? Why does he </span> <span class="s1">do </span> <span class="s2">this? </span></em> <span class="s1">MJ couldn’t make sense of any of it. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, instead, she figured she wouldn’t even try. It may be lazy on her part, but Peter was in so far deep and she wasn’t even sure what her opinion would be on any of it anyways. Of course, she hated that he seemed to carry the world on his shoulders. But what could she possibly do about it? And when the dark sky took on the slightest hint of blue, she figured was too late for her brain to comprehend any further into this. So she laid her head on Peter’s shoulder and fell asleep too. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright. Who’s gonna say it? This chapter sucks. It has the information, but I hate the way I did it. I know it feels rushed, but I really just wanted someone to KNOW. And Peter was questioning everything, he needed to vent, and MJ was just THERE. I have no idea why I decided to write her finding out rather than just knowing from the beginning, but that’s what I get for using an out-of-character MJ. Pls tell me u at least like this chapter even a LITTLE bit? 🥺🥺 I’m scurred</p><p> </p><p>—</p><p> </p><p>Also, idk how tf to get rid of those notes down there from the first chapter 👇 just ignore it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Silver Alkyon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 5166<br/>Here’s a long one to make up for the shit that was last chapter :) hopefully it satisfies lmao I’m in a little bit of a writers block still so nothing I write seems right (haha... homophones...)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>MJ left early Saturday morning. Thankfully, she never found out about Peter’s bullet wound as he had cleaned the bathroom free of any mess (blood, mostly) the morning before he told her everything. That, on it’s own, had been worrying Peter nonstop. He spent the rest of the weekend staying in and doing lab work to keep his mind off it. Michelle had freaked out, as expected, but settled down enough by the end of the night that Peter was somewhat glad he’d told her. It’s amazing, to him, that she even stayed in the first place. He had half expected her to leave on the spot and never talk to him again. Regardless, Peter had his concerns. There’s no way they could get past this this easily. MJ had known him since freshman year, but is only just now getting to <em>actually</em> know him. Peter was sure she was hiding her emotions for the sake of himself, and it’s more confusing than anything.</p><p>But when Monday rolled around, Peter got a text from the girl who was occupying his mind all weekend. She asked him to meet her out front so they could walk to school together. So, with anxious hands, Peter pulled over a hoodie, grabbed his backpack, and took the elevator down.</p><p> </p><p>And it was just like old times. Peter could hardly believe it. She greeted him, ‘<em>Hey, loser,’</em> and they started their walk to school. If she was weirded out, she didn’t show it. And by the time they reached the front gates and greeted Ned, Peter caught himself joking around and smiling genuinely.</p><p>By the end of the school day, Peter was almost positive it had been one of the best days in a while. No Flash, no people whispering about him behind his back, and a lot less stress. It was nice that MJ new. Now, he just has to figure out how to tell Ned. It’s got to be soon.</p><p>As Peter makes his way to decathlon practice, he debates on inviting MJ over again tonight so they can figure out a plan.</p><p>A parade of questions and answers assaulted his eardrums as he pushed the doors open to the North Gym. Michelle barely glances away from the que cards to wave him over before going back to leader duties. Peter takes his seat and Betty immediately turns to him.</p><p>“You’re late.”</p><p>“Am I?” He checks his phone for the time.</p><p>“Yes. Michelle changed it to 3:30 sharp in the group chat. Is it silenced or do you need a watch?” She asks snootily.</p><p>Unfortunately, Peter can’t have a watch because he keeps his web shooters on him at all times, and in case of emergency, he wouldn’t really have the time to take it off before putting his shooters on. He looks at her and shrugs, “It’s not silenced, I just don’t check my phone that often.”</p><p>“What do you mean? You’re <em>always</em> on your phone.”</p><p>Peter gives her a weird look. He figures she’s being so passive aggressive because she’s still mad about him flaking all the time in pervious years. “No I’m not.”</p><p>“Yes. You are.” Betty was reading him. Why? Her eyes were scaling his features, so Peter instinctively closed any emotion of his face. Which, incidentally, seems to always make him appear cold. When she realizes she wasn’t getting any information indirectly, she pushes on. “What <em>was</em> that last week? You got a phone call and ran off. It wasn’t a family emergency, you were clearly lying. I don’t know what’s going on with you Peter but you’re always sneaking off and answering weird calls— and you’re just, just really different this year.”</p><p>Peter hated being watched. He was hiding too much, and he’s only human. It made him feel vulnerable when people tried to figure him out, so he clenches his jaw and asks, “What’s your point?”</p><p>Betty looked at Ned, almost nervously, “I’m just.” She takes a deep breathe and meets her gaze to Peter’s eyes again. “I guess I’m just worried about you. We all are.” She quickly adds the end.</p><p>Peter narrowed his eyes at her and peeked at Ned, who was now watching them. <em>Oh</em>, he thinks, <em>so that’s what’s going on.</em> Peter sighs and relaxes once again, letting the tension melt from his shoulders. “Hey, I’m sorry. Everything’s fine.” And leans forward a little and whispers loudly, “and you can tell Ned that too.”</p><p>She sputters a little bit, blushing and opening her mouth to protest that Ned didn’t ask her to talk to him, before MJ snaps her fingers in their direction.</p><p>“Pay attention.” She locks eyes with Peter but doesn’t really seem all that mad. She goes back to asking the rapid fire questions, casually ignoring the protests of Flash who was complaining that Peter never even got in trouble for coming a half hour late.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>“Hey, Peter! Can you check some lab work in R&amp;D? We can’t figure it out.”</p><p>Peter was working on some upgrades to the Spider-Man suit at his station in the office. He had Karen lock the door and notify the few workers who knew him not to come up. Which is why, he was slightly ticked that Adam called him down through the coms.</p><p>Ruffling his hair and sighing, Peter pressed a button to connect his voice to Lab 3. “Yeah. Sure, I guess. In a few.”</p><p>Peter had recently been background checking his employees down to the very last detail. He looked through police reports if they had any, schools they went to, even comments from teachers in high school— the works. He wanted to know if he could trust them. It was difficult running a company from his office, so maybe if he could find out what kind of personality each one had past the friendly exterior he saw through the interview recordings (that Matt conducted), he could decide whether or not each one was truly trust worthy.</p><p>He had Karen cut the holograms of his suit and pull up the files of everyone from Lab 3. <em>Mary Carter, Ashlyn Aaker, Michael Dover, Tom Gabrick, and Justin Hughes.</em> Peter scrolled through Matt’s notes and his own notes on their background checks. <em>Maybe they’re okay?</em> He thinks.</p><p>Before he could change his mind, Peter cleans his hair up and grabs his lab coat (it’s important to look professional for a first meeting, right?). He wants to be better. It wasn’t fair to his interns and employees to give them instructions through calls and emails and expect them to happily comply. There had surprisingly never been any complaints, even though Matt <em>did</em> make sure to tell each of them that they may never meet the boss before their interview even started. But he wanted to give back more than just a pay raise. If Peter can trust them to work for his company, he can trust them with his identity. He hoped, at least.</p><p>Peter pulled his lab coat tighter around himself as he exited the elevator and made a move towards the R&amp;D labs. Suddenly nervous, he takes a short breath and enters the room.</p><p>Adam did a double take, almost dropping his screwdriver before carefully putting it down and adjusting his glasses. Everybody else only seemed confused, like,<em> ‘what is this </em>kid<em> doing here?’</em></p><p>Peter chuckles lightly and swerved to meet up with Adam. He patted his shoulder and motioned for him to follow him to the corner of the rather large (and messy; he’ll have to have a word with them about clean work space) room. “Hey.” He starts.</p><p>“W-what’re you doing down here? You can’t just—“ he looks back at the startled team then back at his boss, “I was just going to send the blueprints! I didn’t mean—“</p><p>“Whoa, Adam! Calm down, buddy. I just, well I want to be more involved. It’s okay, I—” Peter lowered his voice a little, “I investigated these guys. They’re fine.” He laughs, “Just don’t tell them I ran a background check. They’d probably be horrified that I saw their high school pictures.”</p><p>Adam looked at him skeptically, before releasing a defeated groan and murmuring under his breath and going back to work with his screw driver.</p><p>Peter sauntered over to the heavily bewildered Research and Development crew before stopping in front of them and putting his hands in his pockets, only to bring his right back out and placing it in front of Michael. He furrows his eyebrows and looks down at Peter’s hand then back to his face. Peter raises his eyebrows until Michael shakes his hand while introducing himself, “Michael Dover.”</p><p>“I know.” This seems to confuse the scientist even more, so Peter lets go and moves his hand in front of Justin, who follows suit of his coworker and also shakes his hand in a firm grip. “It’s Parker.” He goes through the rest of the group. “Peter Parker. Or you might know me as...” he seemingly pauses for dramatic effect, but really he’s just snickering in his head at the indirect James Bond reference. “Silver Alkyon.”</p><p>Mary was the first to say something, as the rest of them just seemed shocked and kind of disbelieving.<em> “Mr. Alkyon?</em> Or, I guess, Mr. Parker? Wait, whoa~ what!? Oh my god I always just thought that was your real name. Silver would he a <em>really</em> cool first name!”</p><p>Justin bumps her shoulder to stop her from rambling more, “Idiot. Of course it’s an alias. Alkyon means ‘King Fisher’ in Greek, and Alexo means ‘to help or defend.” He turns to talk to Peter directly, “I always thought that was cool. Assuming you meant to do that, it’s kind of awesome working for a company that’s developing technology to help people just like the name implies.”</p><p>“Now who’s rambling.” Mary mutters under her breath.</p><p>Peter smiled widely at Justin, “I’m glad you caught that! Not a lot of people do; good tuition.” He winks and scans over Ashlyn and Tom, who were sitting awkwardly with scrunched up noses. “You think I’m too young to be him, right?” Ashlyn looks to the ground but Tom speaks up.</p><p>“I- well I always assumed you’d be... taller.” Tom widened in his eyes in horror, worried that he might have offended his apparent boss and quickly tried to backtrack.</p><p>But Peter only laughs and cuts off his intelligible stuttering, “Relax, it’s fine. I <em>am</em> a little short, even for a seventeen year old.”</p><p>“You’re only seventeen? Oh, wow. I- I was skipping class at seventeen, let alone running a whole company!” Ashlyn finally speaks up. She seemed to be a lot like Mary, which is to be expected considering how much time they must spend in the lab together.</p><p>“I know that too.” Peter giggles to himself and continues before she can spiral into an existential crisis over her high school days and claps his hands loudly, “It’s nice to finally meet you all. I apologize for communicating unprofessionally through Adam and emails, but as you can see, I’m quite young. I want to be more involved, but to do that, I’m gonna have to ask you to keep my age under wraps. Think you can do that?”</p><p>They all nods their heads furiously and Peter smiles, sure that he was right in judging this group’s characters. He starts walking towards the lab tables and waves his hands for them to follow. “So, what’s the problem?”</p><p>“Well, there’s an irregularity in the aptasensor technology we’re working on to increase efficiency and accuracy.” Tom pulls up a hologram speaking excitedly, “Right now, aptasensors can be used for vascular endothelial growth factor, diagnostics, purification processes— well, you get the point.” He waves his hand dismissively, “But we’re trying to get it to read further. What if we could get it to analyze every dying cell in the selected area? Think about it! People could detect cancer or other physical illnesses quicker and would be more likely to check if it was more accessible!”</p><p>Peter remembers reading about this project and approving it. It was sensible. He scratches his head and nods slowly, “Right. So, what’s the irregularity?”</p><p>“It’s, well, kind of all of it...” Mary says before Justin nudges her again. <em>They seem to be pretty close,</em> Peter notes. She starts over after glaring at Justin, “Okay, so, the RNA and DNA aptamer isn’t activating against dangerous target enzymes properly. The catalyst keeps accelerating.”</p><p>“Alright. Lemme look at it.”</p><p>Peter bends down to assess the proteins set on the slide for side testing through the microscope.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t long until he figured out the problem, explaining it to the group and answering any questions they had. Adam must have left during that time to check up on the PR and Marketing teams as it’s now dark outside and he’s missing from the room. Peter hadn’t noticed the time had passed so quickly; it was probably pretty late, so he stood up when the conversation came to a lull and started stacking up their notes from the breakthrough. “Look at the time,” Peter points to the clock and laughs, “Sorry about that, it gets away from me sometimes.”</p><p>“It’s alright, clearly none of us noticed either.” Ashlyn smiled softly and nodded her head to her coworkers/ friends. They all looked equally confused at their slip in time.</p><p>“Yeah, don’t worry. We could go on for hours. Thanks so much, by the way. You really helped a lot.” Justin adds.</p><p>Michael shakes his head, amused, “I’m still amazed that you could fix a problem we’ve been trying to figure out for literal <em>days!</em> You really are a little genius. I did six years of college in biochemistry and was stuck.”</p><p>“Sometimes it helps to have fresh eyes take a look. Really, you give me too much credit.” Peter looks to the ground, mostly to hide the slight blush creeping up to his face, “Well anyways, it was really nice to meet you all. I know I technically hired you, but I’m really glad I’ve got some intellectuals working for Alexo.” He makes his rounds shaking their hands as he says this, ready to say goodbye and go home for the night. When he’s done, Peter steps back a little and stumbles on an apple core. He makes a face before looking at them, and Mary subtlety points to Tom, who embarrassedly scratches the nape of his neck. “You know,” Peter starts, “my lab upstairs is a pretty big mess too. But, I can’t very well condone a dirty working space. Clean this stuff up, yeah?” And swirls his finger in a circle to indicate that he was talking about the whole room. There were a few empty pizza boxes sitting on the adjacent desk, brown banana peels hanged half way out of the trash can, papers and wrappers littered the flower, pencil shavings, and of course, the apple core, were also haphazardly lying on the cool white tile.</p><p>They had the compassion to look around and apologize, promising to clean up... eventually.</p><p>“Alright~ well, I’ll leave you to it! Get some sleep!” Peter walks backwards, pointing his index and middle fingers to his eyes and then to the team in a <em>I’m-watching-you</em> way, then turns to leave. He makes another mental note to have Adam enforce a little bit of a stricter ‘clean labs’ rule.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p><br/>
The rest of the week went pretty much the same. Go to school, engage in rigorous decathlon practices, ignore Flash, hangout with Ned and MJ, help in the labs, repeat. Minus the occasional swing through NYC. Crime rates have thankfully been down lately.</p><p>Then finally, it was Friday morning.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>‘Good morning, Peter. It’s currently 8:05 in the morning and 73 degrees outside. Your first class starts in 15 minutes, you’re running late. Don’t forget, you have a decathlon meet today at 4:30pm.’ Karen had a calm lilt to her voice despite the very concerning words.</em>
</p><p>Peter shot up quickly, shielding his eyes from the technologically un-tinted windows. <em>“Karen!”</em> He hissed. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?” He throws the blankets off his legs and stands to rummage through the clean clothes in his hamper.</p><p><em>‘I alerted you at 7:35, but you </em>snoozed<em> me for another thirty minutes.’</em> She emphasized the word ‘snoozed,’ clearly disgruntled at being unappreciated as an alarm clock.</p><p>He only hums in reply, thrashing wildly to get ready for school as quickly as possible. Not even bothering to tame his curls, Peter throws on a flannel, a sweater over top, and khakis before grabbing his backpack and running out the door in record time. He taps his foot in the elevator, impatiently waiting as it slowly rides down from the twelfth floor and checking the time on his phone. He realizes MJ texted him a little bit ago, saying she was leaving without him. Peter bit his nails, worried that she might be mad at him for missing her two calls. When the doors ding open, he dashes through the lobby and doesn’t stop until he reaches Midtown School of Science and Technology right as the last bell rings. Luckily, his teacher was in the bathroom so he wasn’t counted tardy when he walked in a couple minutes late.</p><p>He got a few looks from the rest of his AP English class, and Peter realized he must’ve looked crazy. Unruly curls; now just slightly matted and sticking up in places from the wind, flushed cheeks, and yet not out of breath. He steps over to his seat in the back and drops his book bag onto the floor next to his desk. He hears a girl named Bethany lean over and whisper to her friend, obviously not knowing Peter could hear her no matter how low she whispered.</p><p>“Peter Parker, huh?” She giggles behind her cuffed hand, “He’s dressed like normal today.”</p><p>The blonde girl she was talking to blushed, “Not gonna lie, the new style was pretty hot. His hair looks good today though.”</p><p>“He’s so cute. Like, nerdy, yeah. But, cute-nerdy, don’t you think?”</p><p>“He’s really on and off. I heard he took out Flash on like the second day of school! And apparently he acts totally scary sometimes, but then talks to that big guy about stuff like Star Wars.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I don’t know. I like it. It’s kind of mysterious!”</p><p>Bethany’s friend hums in reply before glancing at Peter, who quickly adverts his eyes before she realizes he was listening (well, staring. Because he shouldn’t have been able to hear them). “He <em>is</em> really cute. But, I mean, it really doesn’t matter. He’s like, totally dating Michelle Jones. I’m almost sure of it.”</p><p>Peter twitches in his chair at that, slightly wishing he didn’t hear it. People think he and MJ are <em>together?</em> But he humors the idea for a second, and flushes when he realizes, well, he didn’t actually mind the thought.</p><p>Bethany sighs, head resting on the palm of her hand. “You think?”</p><p>Mrs. Volzer walks in then, promptly squaring up Peter with her eyes, knowing he wasn’t there when she left for the bathroom. Luckily, she just turns around and pulls out her copy of Common Core History of Literature textbook and informs the class of which page to turn to.</p><p>Peter, however, couldn’t care less about Emily Dickens, and instead blocked out the sound of his teachers voice to think about the conversation he had just eavesdropped on. He uncomfortably shuffled in his chair. Him and MJ?</p><p> </p><p>But by the time AP Calculus BC rolled around, Peter had already pushed the thought of him and his best friend down to his subconscious. They were working on pressure, thermal equilibrium, and the Ideal Gas Law. Of course, it was stuff Peter already knew all about, but the labs were at least entertaining enough for him to give his full attention. Anything to keep his mind busy. It was going to be one hell of a day. He had to apologize for making MJ wait this morning, of course, and then there was the decathlon meet, and not to mention— oh god— that he’s supposed to go to Stark Industries today to meet with Tony freaking Stark.</p><p>Peter’s hand fumbled as he thought about this, accidentally burning his finger where he once held a match to light a fire under his beaker. He cursed under his breath, and Mr. Glatz didn’t even look up from his magazine when saying, “Careful with the fire, the nurse is out today and I don’t have any bandaids.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>The bus ride to MSE was bumpy and nerve-wracking, even to Peter, who seemed to know everything. He was sitting next to Ned, answering decathlon questions as fast as Michelle asked them. Betty was envious, she couldn’t deny it. But it also made her a little snappy. That Peter, who was brilliant, took it for granted so much. She wished she was half as book smart as him and his cool friend Ned, and she actually <em>went</em> to every practice.</p><p>“As light from a star spreads out and weakens, do gaps form between the photons?” MJ looks around the bus, silencing Peter with a look who was about to answer after waiting a second to make sure nobody else wanted to. But <em>‘the rest of the team needs to practice,’</em> she thought firmly. “Betty?”</p><p>Betty had been watching Peter and Ned for a while, or looking out the window to watch the buildings pass as they made their way to College City. She wasn’t listening. MJ tried again. “Betty!”</p><p>“Hm? What?” She snaps her head to look at the captain. “Sorry, what was the question?” She had enough sense to look bashful as she admits she was somewhere else.</p><p>Michelle repeats the question and waits for Betty to give the correct answer before moving on to attacking Flash and Abe with questions as well.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t long until they reached the school. There were three other yellow buses parked out front, meaning a total of five teams would be competing today. MJ was nervous. She wanted to win, and it’s not that she’s not confident in her team, she is. But she’s competitive, and likes to be in control. How can she know how good the other schools are? There were too knew teams they’ve never competed against before.</p><p>Peter bumped into her side when they were both off the bus, noticing how tense she seemed. “Hey. Not doubting us, are you? Don’t worry, I have an IQ of 248.” Peter gives her a cheeky grin which she scowls at, before breaking into a small smile herself.</p><p>“Yeah right, loser. Do you even know who wrote the Gettysburg Address? Do you know when The Great Gatsby takes place?”</p><p>Peter makes a face, “George Washington.”</p><p>“Idiot. Stick to science Mr. Businessman.” Michelle laughs and pushes Peter as they walk through the entrance to MSE, ignorant to the prying eyes of the Midtown decathlon team staring at their backs.</p><p> </p><p>The inside of the school was beautiful. The stage they’d be competing on was in a large room that looked like a cathedral. The walls were an off-white and were complimented nicely by the rich browns of the ceiling and stage background. The floor was littered with blue-cushioned fold-out chairs and were filled with parents and family waiting for the competition to start. Well, at least 1/4 of the chairs set out were filled. Decathlon doesn’t really get a lot of attention. Peter tried not to look at the empty seats sadly, wishing there were someone cheering him on like the other kids. MJ puts a hand on his shoulder. He must’ve let some emotion creep onto his face, because Michelle looked at him wistfully and said she didn’t have anyone waiting for her either.</p><p> </p><p>They took there seats in the stage along with the other teams, before the principle of MSE walked out and tapped the microphone standing at the edge of the raised floor. “Welcome, students, family, and knowledge enthusiasts! Today marks the first competition for the talented and genius kids of our beloved New York City. The winners of today will proceed to state, and maybe even to nationals. You’ll excuse me if I route for MSE.” He charismatically winks, earning a few chuckles from the crowd, before motioning for the director of USAD to come to the mic to explain the rules and regulations. A staff member makes rounds to set sharpened #2 pencils, test packets, and scantron sheets to each student. When everything was in order, the written examination silently begins.</p><p>It was 45 minutes later when the bell rung, signally for everybody to put their pencils down and close their booklets. Peter glanced around, noticing some students from MSE biting their nails and some from Chelsea with their heads in their hands.</p><p>It wasn’t long until the verbal test began, the director asking questions in an incredibly monotone voice. One school seemed to be completely unprepared, as admittedly, the problems they needed to solve were a lot harder than expected. Even Peter struggled with one or two of the psychology questions, as that’s not his strong suit. Their biggest rivals seemed to be MSE, which kind of sucked considering they were at their home base. It was easy to get nervous and forget yourself in unfamiliar places. Luckily, Midtown was holding their own. If MSE answered a question, Midtown answered the next one. It was like the three other schools weren’t even there, except for the occasional input from the students of Chelsea.</p><p> </p><p>“If the price elasticity of demand equals 0.5, in absolute value, then a 10% increase in the price of a product will result in—?”</p><p>Peter quickly rings his bell, business and technology <em>were</em> his forté after all. He waits for the director to say ‘Midtown,’ before answering, “5% decrease in the quantity demanded.”</p><p>“Correct. In Blake’s poem, the phrase, ‘unbuckled was the shield,’ is an example of—?”</p><p>Michelle answers this one, “inverted syntax.”</p><p>“Correct. When plutonium -239 decays to uranium -235, which type of radiation is emitted?”</p><p>Peter rings his bell again, but a girl from MSE was quicker. “Alpha!”</p><p>“Correct. According to A. A. Lamourette—“</p><p> </p><p>It went on like that for a while. Peter had no idea who was winning, but he could tell MJ really wanted this, so he wanted it too.</p><p> </p><p>When the questions came to an end, the director went off to check the tally’s made by the staff keeping count, speaking with them quietly. The students started to talk amongst themselves; some excited it was over, others stressed they didn’t get more chances to get answers in. Peter turned to Michelle again, asking her how she thinks it went.</p><p>“Pretty good, actually. Well done.” She then pokes his forehead and writes over her previous compliment with snark, “Don’t get a big head.”</p><p>Peter swats her hand away and laughs. Light-hearted conversation is exchanged between the teenagers competing, except for Flash who was silently seething on the side of the stage. He hated seeing Peter do well. Mostly because he was an alternate, and as long as Peter was an asset to the team, Flash wasn’t. “Yeah, real good job, penis. You’re so much of a show-off you didn’t give anyone else a chance to answer.”</p><p>Usually, the bully didn’t get to him. But Peter suddenly felt self-conscious. <em>Had</em> he been a know-it-all? He steeled his face so Flash didn’t know he made him second-guess himself, but Ned surprisingly saw through it.</p><p>“Don’t worry, Peter. It’s a <em>good</em> thing you answered fast. Nobody else would’ve known the answers for those biochemistry and physics questions. You helped a lot.”</p><p>Peter gave him a grateful smile and went back to chatting with his friends, much to Flash’s dissatisfaction.</p><p> </p><p>Soon, the director was back on stage with a notecard. “Alright, quiet down ladies and gentlemen.” He straightened his hand and moved it in an up-and-down pattern. “As the for the results, we’ll start from last to first.” Pausing for suspense, he takes a moment before continuing. “In fifth place... we have the High school of Arts &amp; Technology.” There’s a quiet and collective clap from the audience, and a few groans of disappointment from the mentioned school. “In Fourth place, Pathways.” More disappointed chatter.</p><p>“Now for our top three! Third place goes to Chelsea!” The response was a little more enthusiastic this time— third place wasn’t bad. But now that there’s only two teams left, MSE and Midtown sat at the edge of their seats. “And in second place... we have the school... who so graciously allowed USAD to hold the first competition at their home this year—“ His voice was drowned out by the cheers of Midtown High, and the groans and applause that was mixed between the kids from MSE (it’s seems not everyone has good sportsmanship). “Midtown School of Science and Technology will be advancing to State Regionals this year! Give a round of applause for all the hardworking and gifted groups of kids who competed today!”</p><p>After the excitement died down everyone started cleaning up and gathering their stuff to go. The bus ride back to Manhattan was filled with a buzzing energy. Peter even thinks he heard Abraham say, “The volume on this bus is astronomical!” In a distorted sort of voice. Peter snorted, while most of the others just ignored it because they didn’t get it. It was a feel-good atmosphere. It almost made Peter forget all about his upcoming trip to SI. But, of course, as soon as the thought crossed his mind he was back to feeling restless. <span class="s1">He had Karen contact F.R.I.D.A.Y. through hidden online severs and relay the message that Peter might be a little late, due to </span><span class="s2">‘prior engagements.’</span></p><p> </p><p>Now back at school in the North Gym, the team was gathered around a table with the 1st place trophy in the middle. Mr. Harrington was at the head of the table, MJ on the other end.</p><p>“I’m really proud of you all.” Harrington started, “You came together and went to Nationals two years in a row, and I’m confident that this year will be no different. You showed integrity, intelligence, and did Midtown well.” He coughed awkwardly and nodded his head at MJ.</p><p>“Uh, yeah. Good job. But, remember— MSE came close, so don’t get too ahead of yourselves. We still have a lot of practice to get in before State. Practice on Wednesday, we’ll focus on our weak points.”</p><p>They talked for a little while more, before Peter simply couldn’t stand it anymore and made a show of checking his phone. “Oh, it’s that late? Um,” he cleared his throat, “Sorry guys, I have to go. Really great job! Super excited!” He quickly swung his bookbag over his shoulder. MJ lifted an eyebrow at him, and he mouthed ‘later,’ before saying goodbye to Ned and jogging out of the school and into the streets of Midtown Manhattan. He looked around for a taxi to take him to Stark Industries, not really feeling like walking. He waved his hand in the air, until one stopped. Ungracefully getting in, he gave the driver name of his destination and fidgeted nervously  until they came to a stop. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It’s happening!</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>-<br/>Just saw about Corey La Barrie :( r.i.p. a king... I’m actually so upset right now.. fuck</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Some Kid?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ok I couldn’t wait a week so here’s the next chapter four days early :) ITS HAPPENING! We get a lil Tony and a lil Natasha bc I love the Peter and Nat relationship 😌</p><p>Also I didn’t proofread so sorry for any mistakes</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The building was huge and pristine. Compared to Alexo, it looked like a castle. Peter waited a moment to take it in, then shrugged and made his way to the door. Only when he walked in did he realize his predicament: how was he supposed to get to Mr. Stark? It was pure chaos. There were interns scrambling around the lobby, trying not to spill the coffees in their right hand on the spreadsheets in their left. Sleep-deprived scientists were pulling their hair while looking for mistakes in their coding on a bench near the exit (like they were sent home, but decided they couldn’t leave until they figured it out). Little gadgets and robots roamed the air and scattered across the floor, running away from young employees. Security guards lined full body metal detectors like the ones at the airport and entrances to every room or elevator. It was slightly overwhelming. It was like a jungle scene straight out of <em>Mean Girls</em>, Peter mused.</p><p>He tore his eyes away from the main lobby and looked around for a secretary. At a desk to the far right, there were two older ladies. One with a mean expression and incredible reflexes, the other with a large coffee and— was that Burger King? The first woman looked pretty busy answering calls, so Peter turned to the one on break. Her name tag said Kim.</p><p>“Hi,” he called to get her attention.</p><p>The Kim’s hair was tied into a messy bun and she had circle glasses balanced on the bridge of her nose. Her mouth twisted into a frown upon seeing Peter. “Um, hello. Who are you?”</p><p>“Peter. I’m supposed to meet Mr. Stark.”</p><p>It was obvious she didn’t believe him. After all, not many teenagers, or any for that matter, get personal meetings scheduled with The Tony Stark. “Yes, well, he’s very busy, so if you could just take a seat over there,” she pointed to a bench near the entrance and pushed up her glasses, “I’d be happy to call him down for you in a moment.” She flashed a practiced grin, but practiced isn’t the same as genuine, and Peter knew the difference. Kim was lying. Her eyes flickered over to a security guard, so Peter pressed on before he could be kicked out.</p><p>“No, seriously. Check the schedule. I’ll be there.”</p><p>He silently hoped Tony had actually scheduled it despite it not really being an official meeting. However, that hope quickly rescinded as the secretary turned away from the computer she’d been scrolling through. “Nope. No Peter.”</p><p>“Try again. Under Parker. Should be a time slot for right about now.” Peter hurriedly plucked his phone out of his pocket and pulled up a decrypting program when she turned away. It was much like what Mr. Stark used in court that one time to project failed Iron Man projects on the TVs. He typed in an official looking schedule notice for a ‘Parker, Peter’ to be seen ten minutes from the current time, then swiftly downloaded it to the out-of-date computer. Seriously, most technologically advanced place in the world and the secretary is working on a boxy windows 7? It was prehistoric. But, easy to hack.</p><p>She turned and lowered her glasses this time, looking at him skeptically. Peter only smiled and put his hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. “So? find it?”</p><p>“Yes,” Kim says slowly. “Floor 56, first door on the left.” She hands him an alpha visitors pass, which seems to only be used for important PR. It was rather funny. Peter thanked her and jogged off to the elevator, her eyes following him the whole way.</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>‘Hello. You must be Peter.’</em>
</p><p>Peter jumped at the new voice before hastily regaining himself. “You must be FRIDAY. Sorry about before,” he apologizes to the ceiling in the lift. When he had first gotten on, an older employee was standing with his hand clasped casually in front of him. It was pretty awkward, but luckily he got off on floor 14. It seems the AI was waiting for Peter to be alone before addressing him directly.</p><p>
  <em>‘That’s quite alright. Although, I’d prefer it not happen again.’</em>
</p><p>“I’d prefer<em> Stark</em> to not <em>hack</em> me again. Should be a win-win.”</p><p><em>‘Is it a requirement for business owners to carry the sarcasm?’</em> Friday seems to be genuinely asking. She doesn’t talk to any of the other people Tony has meetings with, but Peter peeked her interest.</p><p>“Not sure. I haven’t met any. I guess we’ll see in a second.” Peter watches the numbers rise above the steel doors as he tried not to think of the Osborns. 50 to 51 to 52...</p><p><em>‘I assure you, you won’t be disappointed in </em>that<em> category.’</em></p><p>The doors open, revealing a sparkling recreational level. The carpet was a dark gray and spread out across the vast space. The walls were all windows and there were a couple couches for lounging areas. Some employees sipped their drinks (the cups looked suspiciously similar to the ones the intern was carrying earlier) and flipped through engineering magazines that had been spread out across the coffee table. A few were resting their eyes, or maybe taking a stress break, as they lay on the sofas with their hands over their faces. A couple girls in the corner, probably in their early twenties, were gossiping over snacks about the new intern, Derek, on floor 48.</p><p>Peter stepped into the room and turned left, like the secretary said. Sure enough, after following the wall for a couple minutes, Peter found Tony Stark’s mid-level office. He was nervous. Very. The man behind this door was someone he’d looked up to when he was younger, and had even saved Peter’s life during a Stark Expo when he was 7. But instead of going over every reason why he should just leave and go home, he lifts his hand to knock on the door.</p><p>Peter stood nervously as he waited for Mr. Stark to answer. Then he heard footsteps, and his heart just about jumped into his throat when the door knob twisted. It was like his senses were dialed up to eleven and everything was in slow motion. Only, when the door was finally opened, he was met with a dark man in a blue suit.</p><p>“Who are you?” He says.</p><p>“Oh. Hi, uh, did I get the room wrong?” Peter glances at the tag next to the door that clearly says ‘Tony Stark. Co-Ceo, Engineer &amp; Owner.’</p><p>“No. You’re looking for Tony? How did you get up here?” The man leans a little out of the room, looking left and right down the hall— probably expecting someone to be with Peter.</p><p>Then a voice from inside the room calls out, “Rhodey? Who is it?”</p><p>The blue-suit-guy, Rhodey, turns to look behind him, “Some kid?”</p><p>“Oh!” There was a shuffling of a chair and Rhodey opened the door wide enough for the billionaire to be seen. He was rocking a paper of sunglass, a t-shirt with a cat on it, and jeans smeared in black oil. “Pete, right?”</p><p>Peter let’s out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Somehow, seeing Tony Stark in a cat shirt was a little grounding. “Yeah, hey. It’s just Peter, actually.”</p><p>“I’ll uh,” Rhodey looks between the two, “I’ll be in the cafeteria.” He grabs Tony’s shoulder before looking at Peter one more time and leaving down the hall.</p><p>“Come on in, kid.”</p><p>Peter follows him into the room. There was a warm glow coming for the windows, which depicted a surreal view of Manhattan 600ft below. The office didn’t look to be used much, or maybe the man was just neater than Peter previously assumed he’d be. There was only a wooden desk with a lamp and a small stack of papers on it in the back of the room, a couple shelves lining the walls, and two office chairs sitting a couple of feet in front of the desk (and a computer definitely more technologically advanced than the ones in the lobby). When Mr. Stark sat down behind the table, he motioned a hand towards one of the chairs. Peter took a seat.</p><p>“Wow, you are young. What’re you, like, twelve?” He was leaning a bit over the desk, hands propping his head up as his elbows sit on the wood.</p><p>Peter, forgetting all his pervious nerves, scoffs. “I’m seventeen. You know that.”</p><p>“Yeah, well.” Mr. Stark shifts again so he has his back pushed up against his swivel chair and his feet are crossed on the top of the desk. “How did you get in anyway? Is my security really that bad,” he changes the subject while raising his eyebrows with a smirk.</p><p>Suddenly, it made a little more sense to Peter. Why hadn’t he set up a meeting so Peter could get through? Because he was <em>testing</em> him. And he must’ve passed, otherwise he wouldn’t be sitting there. It actually made Peter twinge a little pride, if not annoyance. Tony wanted to see if he could if he was worth his time. “I was in the schedule.”</p><p>“No you weren’t.”</p><p>“Yes, I was. Check if you don’t believe me.” Peter pointed at the computer, wearing the same shit-eating-grin the older had on not even a minute ago.</p><p>Stark narrows his eyes at him, but still held a hint of a smile on his lips. Loud and fast typing is the only sound in the room, then a silence, before Tony breaks it with a wild laughter. Peter jumps in his seat. “You little shit. How did you do that? That wasn’t there when you walked in. I know because FRIDAY told me when you got here.”</p><p>“Then why the hell didn’t you just come down and let me in?” Peter only pretended to be mad, because of course, he knows why he didn’t. “Hacking device.” Peter huffs and unlocks his phone, handing it to Tony.</p><p>There was another silence as the man investigated the workings of the program. When he was done, he scratched his chin and broke out another smile. It was like his eyes were twinkling when he said, “let’s go to the lab,” and handed Peter back his phone before pushing up from the desk and making his way to the door.</p><p>Peter looked around, not really knowing what just happened. So, he did the sensible thing. Aka, meeting the expectant billionaire at the door and walking with him back to the elevator before riding up thirty-one floors.</p><p> </p><p>“—isnt even in the same <em>level</em> as Dr. Banner’s breakthroughs in gamma radiation!” Peter laughs loudly.</p><p>They’d been working on unfinished project’s of Tony’s for a of couple hours and trading ideas on new biochemistry or mechanically engineered inventions. Minus the occasional debate of today’s geniuses. There were no windows in the personal lab on floor 87, but it was probably past dark. Not like either of them noticed.</p><p>“Trust me kid, you don’t know the green guy like I do.” Tony meets the kid’s laughter easily, but was cut off by his own coughing and choking as the smoke coming from the Ironman gauntlet he was working on builds up. He swatted at the gray gas, trying to air it out so he could find and fix the circuit it was coming from.</p><p>“Dude, that’s not gonna work.” Peter sniggers behind his hand before grabbing tweezers and pulling his goggles down over his eyes. He leveled his line of sight just right so he could carefully lift up a panel and work on the broken mechanics. “The secretary downstairs needs new tech by the way.” Peter says randomly while pulling the tangled wires. “The poor woman is using Windows 7.” He made a gagging sound.</p><p>Tony rolled his eyes, “Nah. Doesn’t need anything more advanced; FRIDAY does all the real work in the lobby.”</p><p>“She does? Then why do you have secretaries in the first place?” Peter pulls back from the titanium-alloy-hand when he’s satisfied that the circuit won’t short again.</p><p>“Who’s gonna answer stupid phone calls? Pepper, Me, and FRIDAY are too busy for that.” He pulls the bulky gauntlet on and flattens his hand while holding his arm out straight. “Well, I guess Happy could.” He mutters.</p><p>“Happy?” Peter tried to question, but his voice was drowned out by a loud whistling and then a ray of light crashing into the back wall. The room shook and a little bot in the corner dropped what it was holding before running into another bot, beeping loudly. “What the hell! What if I didn’t rewire it right!? You would’ve exploded!” Peter points accusedly at Tony.</p><p>He laughs at the bots antics before answering, “Well good thing you didn’t,” without looking at Peter and then addresses the machines. “Dum-E! Butterfingers! You better clean that shit up! Don’t think I won’t pull out the dunce hat!”</p><p>The bots seem to put their heads’ down, as if they were embarrassed, then went to go grab a broom to sweep up the shattered glass.</p><p>Peter stares at them interestedly. “They’re kinda cool. I mean, the names are a little odd... but what’s their purpose? Like an AI but with physical features? To help out?”</p><p>“They’re more like little dogs or children.”</p><p>The conversation is lost as they engross themselves in their work. It wasn’t until Tony got a call from someone that must live with him that they noticed the time. It was probably an avenger, maybe it was that Rhodey guy, telling him he needs to leave the lab at some point and get some sleep.</p><p>“Shit! I didn’t realize it was so late, kid.” Tony shows Peter his phone, which read 11:32pm. “Do you need me to call someone? Like, tell your parents why you got held up?”</p><p>Peter looks at him blankly. Damn, nobody’s mentioned his parents to him in a long time. He almost forgot that Tony obviously wouldn’t know about his home life like everyone at school seemed to. “Uh, no. They wouldn’t care. It’s fine.”</p><p>Tony stared at him for a second, seemingly a little concerned. “You know, I’ve been meaning to ask. Why <em>did</em> you have that Murdock guy pretend to be CEO instead of just having one of your parents sign off? Do they like, not know?”</p><p>Peter sighed. He didn’t really want to have this conversation the first time meeting, but it would have to happen at some point, he figures. “No. They don’t.”</p><p>“Where’s your mom?” He asks incredulously. It’s like he can’t fathom the idea of Peter being sneaky enough to run a <em>whole</em> company without any knowing. Which, <em>would</em> be impossible if he had someone to actually hide it from at home.</p><p>Peter takes a deep breath, and answers bluntly. “She’s dead.”</p><p>Tony pulls his head back and furrows his eyebrows. “Sorry... your dad, then?”</p><p>“Mhm. Him too.” Peter turns away and starts fiddling with the circuit board he was working on before the phone call. He’d rather not have his full attention on this conversation, and it’s easier to hide your emotions when the person looking can’t see your face.</p><p>“Uhh.. an aunt?” He breaks his gaze away from Peter, suddenly feeling awkward but wanted to know the answer all the same. <em>What was this kid’s life like?</em></p><p>Peter swallowed thickly, “Her too.”</p><p>“... uncle?”</p><p>“<em>Yeah</em>, him too.” He didn’t mean to snap, but the small bit of venom in his voice couldn’t be missed.</p><p>The prying philanthropist pressed on anyways. “Jesus, kid. You got like, I don’t know, a girlfriend or something?”</p><p>Peter clenched his hand around the screwdriver he was holding and forcefully set it down on the table before meeting Tony’s eyes with a pained but fiery gaze. “She’s dead too, Tony. I got know one.”</p><p>“You don’t, you don’t have anyone at home? You live by yourself?”</p><p>For the first time in months, Peter couldn’t really read the expression on someone’s face. He definitely didn’t want to be pitied, and he didn’t want Tony to make a big deal out of it. So he made his own expression unreadable too and shrugged, “Yeah. It’s, you know, it’s whatever. I’m used to it. And I’m doing fine on my own. I don’t want to get involved with CPS either, so you better not call them.”</p><p>Tony put his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “Hey, it’s fine. I didn’t have any parents either.” His features melted into a somber and distant look for a moment, as if thinking of his own memories of when he lost his parents in childhood. That conversation quickly died, and the air was thick for about a half hour before they went back to joking like normal.</p><p>The iron man suit they were working on was close to being done. Tony had started building it manually a couple of days ago, but it was on his third night of no sleep and during a coffee overload. So naturally, there were a few minor mistakes they went over and fixed— like the problem in the left gauntlet. Peter was tinkering with some of the materials he didn’t have to access to at Alexo. The parts he ordered in were always for specific projects, so he never really got to mess with excess tech considering there wasn’t any. Why waste money? Tony, on the other hand, has plenty of metals and parts that were never used. Even vibranium, which is one of the most unattainable metals in the world.</p><p>“Is this straight from Wakanda?” Peter asks, picking up the cylinder of blue crystallized minerals.</p><p>“Yep! I’ve been saving it for something special, just don’t know what yet. T’Challa doesn’t just go handing it out to anyone.”</p><p><em>‘T’Challa?’ </em>Peter thinks. He admittedly doesn’t know much about the mysterious country, but the name did sound familiar.</p><p>Tony sets down his tools and crashes onto his chair, running his greased hands across his face. Peter makes a face at that, but it goes ignored. “I’m hungry,” Tony simply states before getting up and briskly walking over to his phone. He set it down earlier near his computer set-up on the opposite side of the room. “Do you like Pad Thai?”</p><p>“Love it.”</p><p> </p><p>It was over empty cartons of foreign food and Stars Wars in Tony’s living room that Peter met Natasha Ramanov. But first, It was almost strange how well Peter and him got along. It probably helped that the older acted more like a teenager than Peter did usually. He was invited to stay the night in a spare room because of the storm outside, and Peter would never admit it, but it was nice to spend time with someone who understood as much about science as Peter did. They were in the middle of debating how theoretically plausible the tech was in the movie when Black Widow walked in. Her footsteps were so quiet, Tony didn’t even notice her at first.</p><p>But Peter, with his super hearing, zoned out of what Tony was saying and looked past him at the leather-clad red-head. She seemed surprised when Peter met her eyes immediately, but kept the emotion well contained. They had a silent staring contest before Tony finally turned around to look at her.</p><p>“Oh. Hey, ‘tasha? What’s up?”</p><p>She crossed her arms and strolled out of the shadow she was standing in. “Rhodes said you had a kid up here. I had to see it to believe it.”</p><p>“Who’re you calling a kid?” Peter blurted out. He couldn’t help it, sometimes the attitude was uncontrollable.</p><p>Tony gave him a look and Peter just shrugged, which earned a laugh. Nat only raised an eyebrow at the spunk. “We were working on some stuff in the lab. Taking a break,” Tony says dismissively.</p><p>It was like Natasha was constantly looking for a double meaning. It would’ve been unsettling, if Peter didn’t know he did the exact same thing whenever meeting someone new or going someplace unexplored. “Hmm,” she narrowed her eyes before continuing, “Well, Clint broke another coffee table on his way out of the vents. The team wants you up there to help clean it up.”</p><p>“You mean they just want me to do it because they don’t feel like it.”</p><p>“Yeah, basically.”</p><p>Tony sighs and scratching the back of his neck before looking at Peter remorsefully. “I’ll be right back. You can watch without me, it’s almost over anyway,” he says while pointing at the paused movie before getting up to leave.</p><p>When it was just Peter and Natasha in the room, he expected her to leave. But instead, she stood and started at him blankly. So, Peter stared back. It was like a contest— whoever blinks first, loses.</p><p>In reality, Peter had been watching her ever since she entered. He knew she’d try to analyze him, she <em>was</em> a spy after all, and he didn’t like not having the upper hand. He saw the surprise in her complexion when he noticed her footsteps. He saw her scan the room for threats before speaking. He saw her trying to figure out who he was, what he was doing there, and what his connections to Tony were. Peter saw it all. Even the flash of guilt in her eyes when Tony called her Natasha.</p><p>So when she opened her mouth to say, “You’re sixteen or seventeen and got a lot to hide,” she was just simply announcing her conclusions aloud. She definitely did not expect Peter to have some of his own.</p><p>“Seventeen. Your real name’s not Natasha Ramanov,” he said, sure and unblinking.</p><p>Nat shuffled slightly and tilted her head, then uncrossed her arms and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch. “You’ve seen a lot and lost a lot of people close to you.”</p><p>It was like a competition now. “You’re not used to people trusting you.”</p><p>“You live by yourself.”</p><p>“You love someone but you won’t tell them.”</p><p>“Ditto.” She taps her fingers on her leg in thought, now fully turned to Peter. “How did you do that? How do you know what to look for?”</p><p>It takes Peter a couple of seconds to find an answer, because he honestly didn’t know. It’s like one day he started watching, and the next he knew what he was seeing. Finally, he answers, “Once you’ve ruled out the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be true.”</p><p>She stares at him. Whatever she was looking for, she doesn’t find. Instead, she tries to hide a smile and gets up, asking if he wanted some popcorn.</p><p>And that’s how Peter Parker met Tony Stark and finished Star Wars Rouge One with Natasha Romanov— <em>or whatever her real name is.</em></p><p> </p><p>When Tony entered the Avenger’s common area he was indeed met with a pile of splintered wood and and an equally splintered Clint Barton. Sam was laughing his ass off and everyone seemed to just be ignoring it.</p><p>“Wanda!” He calls the youngest on the team over, stopping the conversation she was having with Vision. “Can you get bird-brain situated while i clean this up?” He nods his head in the direction of the broken coffee table.</p><p>“My pleasure.” She smiles mischievously and makes her way to the unsuspecting Clint.</p><p>After about ten minutes, the coffee table was snapped into smaller pieces and sat in the trash. Wanda was yanking splinters out of Clint’s back with her magic harshly, making him yelp each time. When she was almost done, Tony wiped his hands on his pants and took a seat in a chair near them.</p><p>“What were you doing in the vents anyway? It’s like one am.”</p><p>Sam laughs and answers for the archer, glad to rat him out. “He was spying on you, man. Who is that kid anyway?”</p><p>“Ten bucks he’s his son.”</p><p>Bruce and Rhodey raise their hands to accept Scott’s challenge, who was visiting for a couple of days.</p><p>“What? He’s not my son? He’s-“ Tony can’t exactly say he’s the owner of Alexo. It wouldn’t make sense anyways, it’s not like he invites CEO’s to stay the night all the time. “He’s a new intern. My personal intern actually. Bright kid. He’s staying tonight in a guest room because it’s late and Happy’s already gone home.” He mentally applauds himself for coming up with a story so quickly.</p><p>Steve makes a face. “Why would Happy drive him is he’s just an intern?”</p><p>“... Because the kid can’t drive and nobody can come pick him up.”</p><p>“Then why go through the hassle of hiring him?”</p><p>“Like I said, he’s smart. The company needs someone like him even if he <em>is</em> a kid.”</p><p>Clint flinches as the last splinter is taken out, “I still think he’s your kid. His age matches up with your ‘playboy’ days. He looks like you too.”</p><p>Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s <em>not</em> my son.”</p><p>“Where is he anyways?” Wanda asks while going back to sit next to Vision.</p><p>“Upstairs with Nat.”</p><p>There was a collective silence as the team processed the news until Sam breaks it with, “Let me get this straight— you left the new kid... with Black Widow? Natasha Ramanov? Scary assassin lady?”</p><p>They all look at each other in a quiet agreement. Bruce stands up and comically stretches, “You know what? I wanna see this kid.” Everyone follows suit and scrambles to sit around the couch.</p><p>Tony stares at them, wide eyed. “Nuh uh. No way. You’re not spying on him! Nat’s probably not even there anymore and he’s got a boring face. Trust me. Let’s just go to bed, okay?”</p><p>Ignoring him, Steve asks FRIDAY to pull up the live security footage and they all crowd the TV, expecting to find Nat analyzing him. What can they say? They wanted to know more about him, and she was the one most likely to figure it out in one look. But instead, when the screen turned on, they saw <em>the</em> Black Widow laughing and throwing pieces of popcorn at the TV, one kernel at a time. There was a kid with a curly mop of brown hair and a bright smile on his face that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He was buried in blankets and commenting on the movie. They were watching <em>Hard to be a God</em>, Star Wars having already been finished. The weirdest part, they were talking in <em>Russian</em>. Clint understood a few words, but Bucky was already sleeping so there was no real translators.</p><p>“He doesn’t speak English?” Wanda asks. Her brother, Pietro, knew Russian, but she unfortunately focused more on French.</p><p>“No, he does. I heard them talking earlier.” Clint answers distractedly, focusing solely on the screen and trying to make sense of what they were saying. “The movie’s in Russian too. They’re just talking about the characters. The kid’s saying something about the technology in it but I don’t even know what those words are in <em>English</em>. Did you know he spoke Russian?” He turned to Tony.</p><p>“No I-“ he was watching intently. Who was this kid? There was so much mystery around him and yet he seemed like a totally normal teenager right now (despite the elephant in the room). It’s like Tony had met three different people. One, the confident and guarded business owner. Two, the intelligent and excitable nerdy kid. And Three, now the bilingual teenager who can somehow get Natasha Romanov to crumble in a mere half hour. “I didn’t know. Honestly, I only met him about a week and a half ago. It’s always strictly science.”</p><p>Scott turned away from the TV and told Bruce and Rhodey they probably weren’t making any money because, “No way Stark’s kid could speak Russian and get along with Nat.”</p><p>They watched for a couple minutes longer, but decided there was no point when not a single English word was spoken.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Word count: 4651<br/>Okkk so don’t know how I feel ab the end? My writers block kicked in lol. Also I have a “deleted scene” or whatever from Peter and Nats POV of the stupid security footage 😂 idk where that came from it’s literally 4:08am and I thought it was funny so lmk if you wanna see it ok bye </p><p> </p><p>Peep the sherlock quote &gt;.&lt;</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Dad Club</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Work count: 2108 <br/>Oh wow I’m sowry this took so long :( first time I missed an upload ughhh idk just read; it’s mostly a filler anyway (also I didn’t proofread so sorry for any typos lol maybe I’ll fix them later)</p><p>And ty for the nice comments &gt;.&lt; y’all make my day sometimes no joke </p><p> </p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter woke up to a dark room and a fluffy bed. He’d almost forgotten that he’d spent the night in a guest room at Stark Tower (on the Avneger’s floor! </span> <em> <span class="s2">Oh my god!</span> </em> <span class="s1">). There was a glow from behind the blackout curtains that cast a cold blue throughout the room. It looked like it was still late at night, but Peter got up to pull the curtains and was met with a blinding morning sun. Sitting back down and checking his phone, he went over everything that happened yesterday.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Midtown won their first decathlon meet, he and Tony Stark acted like they’d known each other forever, and he watched a Russian movie with Natasha Ramanov— then proceeded to prank the Avengers by only speaking with Nat in Russian. No matter how many times he went over it in his head, it was still completely unbelievable. And also hilarious.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter has super hearing. Duh. And Black Widow has expert spy skills. So when Peter heard the team talking and realized they were about to pull up security footage to watch them, he looked to Natasha and found that she somehow knew it too. So, they conducted a plan. It really wasn’t that extravagant of an idea, but it was damn funny to hear them seem so confused. Peter knew Nat must know he was enhanced in some sort of way, but she thankfully didn’t comment on it when he told her they weren’t listening anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Scratching his head, Peter got up and left down the hall to meet the voices laughing in the common area. When he entered, he saw Hawkeye trying to teach Bucky how to play Mariokart while simultaneously beating Sam at the game. Tony was making coffee and glaring in their direction, while Nat made pancakes with Wanda at the stove. The popcorn from last night had been cleaned up by Vision, who was floating down through the floor and then going back up through it in a loop to amuse/ terrify Scott. Rhodey and Dr. Banner must still be asleep, because neither were there.</span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter! Hey, доброе утро маленький брат!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi, не твое настоящее имя Наташа.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nat responded, “So much sass so early in the morning,” the same time as Tony groaned and said, “not again,” from his spot at the coffee machine. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter laughed and took a seat at the island on a raised chair while Natasha flipped a pancake. He turned to look at the Avengers who still didn’t seem to notice his entrance, too caught up in their own distractions. It was weird, but Peter surprisingly didn’t feel as out of place as he thought he would. It was literally his first time there, he met Tony and Nat in person </span> <span class="s2"> <em>yesterday</em> </span> <span class="s1">, and had only heard the rest of the team talking through a floor. But he felt like he already new them. It probably helped that they’re such public figures, and one sentence in a personal setting can tell a lot about someone’s character. From what he heard last night, Peter knew that this group of people just genuinely wanted to help and dealt with what they see on the job by joking around in their free time. Meaning, they were a lot like himself. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clint, winning the game and putting his controller down, looks up to see Peter watching them. “Oh! Hey! It’s the kid!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly, everyone is in the kitchen and Natasha is placing plates down on the table. She speaks over their rambling to ask Peter if he wanted some, and sets a plate in front of him, too, when he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“So, </span> <span class="s2"><em>are</em> </span> <span class="s1">you the biological child of this egotistical a-hole over here?” Is the first question that breaks through the many. </span></p><p class="p2">“Yeah! Is Tony joining the ‘Dad Club?’”</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter sputters and laughs, glancing at Tony— who sets his coffee cup down and glares at Scott and Clint. “No. I’m just an intern.” It was lucky that Peter </span> <span class="s2">could </span> <span class="s1">hear them last night, because now he knew Tony’s cover story, much to the latter’s confusion. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Scott huffs and smacks a $10 bill into Wanda’s hand, along with Rhodey. Bruce would probably have to pay up later. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before another round of questioning could start, Tony pulls a chair next to Peter and puts both hands up to tell everyone to quiet down. “Alright, alright. Leave the poor kid alone, it’s seven in the freaking morning.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">A couple of hours later, Peter was well aquatinted with the Avengers. Which was totally weird on it’s own. He felt most comfortable around Tony and Nat still, because for some reason they had an aura that made him feel like a normal kid for once. It helped that neither knew he </span> <span class="s2">wasn’t </span> <span class="s1">an ‘ordinary kid.’ Well, a mutant, at least. Peter supposes being an orphan makes him unordinary anyway. And again, he was sure that Natasha had her suspicions. Plus, what kind of kid sizes up Black Widow ten seconds after meeting her? One with balls, that’s who. Or maybe one with nothing to lose. </span> <span class="s2">Or </span> <span class="s1">one with a death-wish. Peter supposes he’s all of those. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He silently muses over the interactions he’s had all day as he walks with Tony to the elevator. They were going down to the public lab floors. It wasn’t like Alexo and SI were real rivals. Peter’s company dealt mostly with biochemistry and affordable technology for the common folk to buy and use for protection. They sold things for mainly security and dabbled in the medtech aspects occasionally. SI was focused on clean energy, modern home technology (appliances, phones, etc.), and the likes. They were really totally different, despite both being mechanical engineering corporations fit for the future. Which is why, when they reached the R&amp;D labs, Peter was </span> <span class="s2"> <em>subtly</em> </span> <span class="s1"> baffled. Subtly, because he put a lot of effort into hiding his amazement enough for him to look indifferent.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The labs were far larger than the ones at his own company, and far more pristine. Minus the empty take-out containers. </span> <em> <span class="s2">That</span> </em> <span class="s1"> seemed to be a constant among all young scientists who practically lived at work to meet deadlines. There were about seven people working efficiently, and they didn’t seem to notice Tony’s sudden appearance until he sauntered in and stole a pizza slice right from someone’s hand.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So,” he says in between bites, “whatta we got here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They all kinda just side glanced Peter, except for the pizza-owner, who looked quite scandalized, actually. Then quickly got to explaining the project for their boss. It was some kind of advancement in the program called B.A.R.F. that was suspended a couple years ago. It was essentially a VR program, but instead of seeing the holograms through goggles, they were all around you. The project was apparently shutdown because the cost vs application was totally impractical, and Tony didn’t see much use for it past therapeutic purposes. However, the scientists simply straightened their lab coats and began explaining why their improvements could make the project revolutionary. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing. We were looking at the schematics—“</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They day continued to be both marveling and mundane at the same time. It was like Peter was doing his normal daily routine, but with a billionaire and his friends. Okay, it was pretty cool. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">After the project presentation about B.A.R.F. in R&amp;D, Tony and Peter visited a few more labs that requested help before they both got pretty hungry. Without much say in it, Peter found himself having a late lunch in a quiet cafe. Tony said it was one his favorites, and he must come here a lot, because when the waiter came over to them she wasn’t even surprised. Well, that she was serving Ironman. She </span> <span class="s2">did </span> <span class="s1">seem surprised, however, to see him with a teenager. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mr. Stark,” she nods her head at him then begins writing down what must be his usual order. “And what would you like?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, same as him. Thanks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And a strawberry milkshake!” Tony adds as she starts to walk away, winking in Peter’s direction. “So. What did you think?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter knew exactly what he was talking about. He wants to know what he thought of his company. “It’s cool. Way different than Alexo, but that’s to be expected considering how successful SI is. I don’t have nearly as many staff, but that makes it easier for me to keep an eye on them. I’d love to collaborate on something.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony presses his hands flat together and slouches into a thinking position. “You specialize in Biochemistry, right? But you’re pretty good with Physics and Artificial Intelligence too. What else do you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Anything. I self-studied in all sciences. My low points are probably Biomimicry and Astronomy.” Peter actually thought about studying Biophysics at Columbia when he didn’t have any money, but now there’s not much college could teach him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How ‘bout a project in Chemical Engineering? I’ve been thinking something up for a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Chemistry is my playground,” he says, thinking of his webs. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony stared at him for a moment before turning his attention to his phone to check some emails. With nothing else to do, Peter did the same until the food arrived. It was just a regular burger and some fries, and of course, the milkshake. They ate in silence until Tony decided to speak up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, I can’t figure you out. And I can figure most people out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s there to figure out?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony pushed his plate to the side a little bit and clasped his hands, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m not sure. Natasha probably knows.” He squinted, “There’s just something about you that doesn’t make sense.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter pushed his plate aside too. “And what would that be?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, the fact that you’re a CEO while still in high school, for one. Seriously, kid, how do you even know what you know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You mean without a college degree?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean, at all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter tilted his head back and crossed his arms. “I read a lot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Although dissatisfied with that answer, Tony accepts it and starts a stream of rapid fire questions. “Does anyone else know? Besides that lawyer guy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Two. That is, two that know the whole story.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The whole story? Do I know it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You don’t need to.” Peter watches as Tony absentmindedly swirls a fry in his ketchup while he thinks of the next question. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How did you know to say you’re an intern?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">Oh. Tough one. Think, Peter! </span> </em> <span class="s1">“Uh, lucky guess?” Realizing he sounded incredibly unconvincing, he tried again. “Of course, you can’t say I own Alexo— you promised. And that’s the only way you know me, so you worked with what you had. I’m smart, I’m young, and I have an interesting story. The only plausible connection to you and me is that I’d be an intern here.” </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tony raised an eyebrow as Peter caught his breath. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Why switch from curt answers to a whole monologue all of a sudden? Obviously, he’s lying.</span> </em> <span class="s1"> Even if it did kind of make sense, he’s nervous. Of </span> <em> <span class="s2">course </span> </em> <span class="s1">he’s lying. It’s actually the first one Tony could confidently detect. “Okay,” he starts, “I don’t need to know everything.” </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. You don’t.” Peter sips his milkshake to the very last drop, causing the straw to make a loud and annoying rumble. Shaking the empty cup, he sighs and looks back up to Tony. “But I don’t mind you knowing. Most things, at least.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The billionaire nods his head shortly and raises his hand to call the waiter over with the check. If he seemed a little put-off, Peter pretended not to notice all the way back to the tower. He’d rather not deal with trying to figure out what Tony Stark knows, wants, or guesses. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a few more hours in the lab, Peter found himself full circle back in the guest room at Stark Tower. Curtains pulled, lights out, and mind running a mile a minute. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Because, really, he just spent a whole weekend with Ironman and shared some words with the Avengers. The same guys he tried to avoid while going out as Spider-Man. And guys like Banner, Stark, and Osborn are the kind of scientists he tried not to get attention from as Peter Parker. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Well, Osborn’s not really a problem; considering he’s...</em> </span> <span class="s1">Peter glares at the ceiling. </span> <span class="s2"> <em>Why did that sound so dramatic in my head? He’s just in prison, not dead. Why am I rhyming? I need to go to bed. Shit! Was that still a rhyme? </em> </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With a deep sigh and a quiet laugh at his own thoughts, Peter turns over and pushes a pillow against his face in an attempt to shut his mind off. Or, maybe, to suffocate himself. Same thing. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>TRANSLATIONS~<br/>Nat: Good morning, little brother<br/>Pete: Hi, not-your-real-name-Natasha</p><p> </p><p>Short chapter, shit chapter, I KNOW! I have NO idea why this was SO hard to get out, but I just could not do it y’all. I tried my best :/ I still have writers block to where I can’t write anything good or how I want but I’ll try to make next chapter nice and long even if it kills me 😌</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Havin’ A Meltdown Again?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 4077<br/>Fun fact: I accidentally deleted the ENTIRE STORY while I was writing this. Thank god for recently deleted I literally got shivers and almost had a meltdown (also my phone died right after recovering the story and editing through it. My god it was a stressful night).</p><p>On another note: this ones a big one! And kind of a long one so get ur snacks and water (bc stay hydrated y’all srsly it’s important) (yes it’s 4:48am and I have ADHD which makes it extremely hard to stay on topic) (ok that’s all enjoy the chapter)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tony had a guy named Happy drive Peter home and then to school in the morning. Happy’s personality, in Peter’s opinion, totally contradicted his name. He didn’t talk a lot, and he probably would’ve preferred to be </span> <span class="s2">anywhere </span> <span class="s1">else. Or maybe, he just wasn’t a morning person. Either way, it worked out fine because Peter didn’t really want to talk to someone he didn’t know anyway. The driver had a missed spot of shaving cream behind his ear, and his suit was crumpled like he’d slept in it. Definitely lives alone. He didn’t play any music the whole car ride, so they really just sat in silence for the majority of it— besides the occasional curse Happy would angrily whisper under his breath at a civilian. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Peter stepped inside the school, the morning announcements were playing and recapping the win of the decathlon team on Friday. A couple people he was aquatinted with from his classes patted his back in the hall and congratulated him, but most just ignored it.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It was a new day. And Peter had a lot to do. First, he has a test in AP Calculus BC. He also has to talk to MJ at some point about the weekend, even though she probably wouldn’t care unless he mentioned Pepper Potts, whom, he did not meet. Then there’s Ned. Peter’s been putting off telling him for over two weeks, but he has to at some point. He absolutely won’t let himself leave Ned out anymore. He deserves the truth. </span> <span class="s2">And </span> <span class="s1">not only that— he hasn’t gone on patrol in three days. He’ll have to call up Matt and Wade tonight if the streets are quiet, which, they usually are on Monday’s. Maybe they’re up to something interesting. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Is that all?</em></span> <span class="s1"> Peter sighs and opens his locker to collect the books for his morning classes. </span> <span class="s2"><em>No. I need to go to Alexo tonight too.</em></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He was so lost in his thoughts he almost bumped into someone while speedily walking to first period, but luckily (or maybe unluckily), a shiver went up the nape of his neck as a warning. Looking back, Peter was met with a surprised Flash Thompson, who looked more than ready to start yelling at whoever got in his way. He was holding his phone close to his chest, no books in sight. But, his red face suddenly flushed when they made eye contact, and he quickly turned and walked away. It was hilarious. Flash’s been skittish ever since that one day, even if he puts up the tough guy act for everyone else. </span> <span class="s2">At least he’s finally been taken down a peg. </span> <span class="s1">It was enough to keep a goofy smile on Peter’s face for the remainder of the morning. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened to you this weekend?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What you mean?” Ned set down his sandwich to question MJ and then looks back to Peter, who he’d been talking to before the lull in conversation she took as an opportunity to speak up. “Did something happen?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“What? No! No, I-“ Peter stutters and glares at MJ. It’s always hard lying to Ned. “I was just </span> <em><span class="s2">working</span></em><span class="s1">.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She seemed to have gotten the pointed message, but Ned looked skeptical all the same. “So, you uh. You have a job? Why didn’t I know that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mentally curing himself, Peter answers, “Yeah, sorry. It’s just been—“</span>
</p><p class="p2">“Hard. I know.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter stares back at Ned, mouth trying to form words but nothing coming out. It wasn’t like him to be straight forward or harsh with his words, but Peter guesses that the secrets are weighing in Ned just as much as himself. When he doesn’t answer, Ned takes the silence as an end to the conversation and gets up to dump his tray.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Ned! Wait!” Peter grabbed his sleeve in a panic, and now Ned was waiting for him to continue... but, really. What can be said? “Well, I— come over. After school today.” </span> <em><span class="s2">Oh my god. oh my god, why did I say that? </span></em></p><p class="p2">“Come over?” He questions, furrowing his eyebrows in doubt.</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">And that made Peter sure. “Yes. I’ll send you the address. You’ve never seen the apartment and, well, I </span> <span class="s2">did </span> <span class="s1">say I need to tell you something.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ned squinted his eyes before nodding furtively,“Okay then. I’ll see you after school,” and left the lunchroom.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter was watching him walk away when MJ finally spoke up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry.” She shrugged at an attempt to look apologetic at her slip of words earlier. “But are you really going to tell him? Today?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a deep breath in response. “Yeah. He deserves to know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Then why didn’t you say something to him sooner? I mean you </span> <em><span class="s2">did </span></em> <span class="s1">keep this whole thing a secret for like </span> <span class="s2">two </span> <span class="s1">years.” </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I guess...” Peter looks around for anyone listening out of habit, “I guess I was scared. I don’t wanna lose him. He’s my </span> <em><span class="s2">best </span></em> <span class="s1">friend. No offense,” he added quickly. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“None taken. Do you want me there?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Scratching the back of his neck, Peter really thinks about it. </span> <em><span class="s2">Does </span></em><span class="s2">he want her </span><span class="s1">there? Will it hurt Ned that MJ knew first? Or will he understand? Will he leave? </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey!” There’s a pair of fingers snapping him to attention when Peter refocuses. “It’ll be fine. You know Ned. If anything, he’ll probably be more excited than offended. And just glad you trust him enough to tell him. He might be  frustrated now, but that’s because he probably has no idea how big whatever he thinks you’re hiding really is.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah,” a deep breath, “maybe you’re right. Thanks.” Peter stays gazing at Michelle. And for a moment, that deep breath forgot how to escape. They’re in a dirty lunchroom, there’steenagers throwing stuff and talking loudly, and the walls are an ugly beige behind her. She was completely focused on assuring Peter and totally vulnerable. She looked beautiful. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The moment was broken by her clearing her throat and lifting up her lunch tray just as Ned had before. “Alright, dork. See you tonight. Decathlon tomorrow, don’t forget.” She smiled and tilted her head, then left. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Peter, he dropped his head onto the table with a groan. <em>What the fuck.</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Puny! Havin’ a meltdown again?” Flash sniggered as he walked past with his group of ugly and overconfident friends. But, his expression quickly turned into a scowl when Peter gave him a stoney glare and a perfectly elevated middle finger. He skittered off after that.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><strong><span class="s1"><br/>
Tony Stank<br/>
</span></strong>Lab tomorrow? I think I’ve got a breakthrough in the electricity and magnetism project.</p><p class="p1"><strong>peter<br/>
</strong>decathlon. then some stuff to work out at alexo. after? </p><p><strong>Tony Stank<br/>
</strong>Fine. After. Forgot you were still in school Mr. I’m-too-busy-for-Ironman.</p><p><strong>peter<br/>
</strong>hah hah. It’ll be late but I ‘ll lyk when I’m omw. Don’t really feel like bypassing ur protocols again</p><p><b>Tony Stank</b> <br/>
Yah we get it stop throwing it in my face sheesh. I’ll tell Kim to let u up. </p><p><b>Tony Stank<br/>
</b>Oh and Bruce will be there. Just a heads up. Meetings starting gotta go see you tomorrow</p><p><strong>peter<br/>
</strong>Bruce?? Bruce BANNER???<br/>
<strong><br/>
peter<br/>
</strong>tony </p><p><strong>peter<br/>
</strong>TONY</p><p>
  <em>read at 2:17pm</em>
</p><p> </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter pockets his phone when his eyes meet Ned waiting for him at the school gates. “Hey.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi. You didn’t send the address?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nope. I’m gonna walk with you there. MJ’s coming too, by the way.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay. Hey! I’m super excited to meet your cousin Angela.” He nudges Peter’s side with his elbow, “Is she cool? What does she do? Is she a world renowned chef? A book writer?“ he makes a sound not unlike an owl and pats Peter’s shoulder repeatedly. “Is she a covert shield operative?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Peter laughs/scoffs at the ridiculous questions and breathes out a ‘no.’ Of course, Angela is completely made-up, but if anything, she’d be a badass business woman like he imagined Pepper Potts to be like. Nobody can measure up to Aunt May, but somehow, Angela came to be a mixture of all his idols into one. He’d like to have someone like that in his life.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just then, MJ trods up and flicks Peter on the head. “Are we going?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm? Oh! Yeah, let’s go. We can take my car.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about ours?” Ned motions towards his car as they pass it in the parking lot.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I mean, we can all drive separately if you want, but I only have one spot reserved at my building. So, I don’t know where you’d park?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">MJ nods, “Fine. We’ll leave ours here and </span> <em><span class="s2">you </span></em> <span class="s1">can take us to school tomorrow.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter narrows his eyes at her before shrugging. “Spend the night then. I don’t get up early enough for that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She raises an eyebrow at his arrogance but says nothing as she takes shotgun in the black Audi and leaves Ned to take backseat. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“This is </span> <em><span class="s2">your </span></em> <span class="s1">car? But it’s so nice...” Ned says as he smooths the leather of the seat next to him. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter answers by adjusting his mirror and putting the car into drive. “Like I said, I’ve got a lot to tell you.” Then on second thought, he turns around to look at Ned and scans the area around him, “And not to be<em> that</em> guy, but no one's ever sat back there before, so please—“ he nods his head at the granola bar his friend is unwrapping, “no crumbs.” He finishes with a grimace. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ned makes an ‘oh’ face, “Right. Gotcha!” He snaps and makes a finger gun, to which MJ rolled her eyes at, and then they were off. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s1">  </span>
</p><p>“<em>This</em> is your ‘apartment complex’?” Is the first thing Ned says as they step out of the car, the loud ‘beep beep’ of the lock alarm in the background as Peter pockets his keys. </p><p>The building was tall and mostly windows. A valet stood outside, taking keychains from people in expensive suits and driving their expensive cars away. Peter was used it in the sense that it was nothing more than where he lived, but he supposed it was intimidating from the outside. “Yes. Let’s go.” He waved his hand forward and starting walking towards the entrance. Only stopping to nod at the valet, Peter walked straight through the lobby and into the hall with the elevators. The secretary didn’t give him much thought, as she’s seen him enough to know that he lived there. But Ned, who’d been trailing far behind as he reveled at everything, was given a suspicious look before Peter waved his hand at her in a way to say that Ned was welcome. </p><p>Once inside the elevator, Peter clicked the button for the level his penthouse was on. It was silent as they rode up— for all of two seconds. </p><p>“So... MJ.” Ned starts. “You’ve been here. Haven’t you? You don’t seem surprised at all. Well, not that you... ever do.”</p><p>She rolls her eyes. Again. “Yeah. He lives right across the street, so. I came, once. A week ago.” The vague sentence was ended with a shrug. </p><p>“... Right.” Ned turned to Peter for answers, but he only broke eye contact to watch the numbers above the metal doors raise. </p><p>Then suddenly the elevator stopped, and Peter was fishing his keys out of his pockets again as he walked past the few doors in the hall and stopped in front of room 238. “Okay. So, shoes off inside and don’t wander.”</p><p>“Why—“ </p><p>Peter cuts Ned off by turning back to the door and unlocking it, walking inside, taking his shoes off, and hanging his keys on the hook by the door. Oh, and, by Karen’s welcome home. </p><p>
  <em> ‘Welcome back, Peter. And Michelle, hello, again. Who is this last guest?’ </em>
</p><p>Ned jumps and if you asked him anytime after the fact, he definitely did not let out a girly yelp in surprise. “Who— Um... Peter... Why is your ceiling talking?”</p><p>MJ kind of startled too, and Peter realized she’d never actually heard Karen before except for that one time at decathlon practice. </p><p>Peter laughs and motions for the two to come inside. “This is Ned Leeds, Karen. I’m surprised you didn’t run a background check already.”</p><p>
  <em> ‘I did. But it’s a courtesy to ask, is it not?’ </em>
</p><p>“It is.” </p><p>“Peter! Seriously! Talking ceiling! Hello?”</p><p>
  <em> ‘Hello, Ned.’ </em>
</p><p>“Not you!” Ned slaps his chest a few times to slow his beating heart. Which, from what Peter could hear, was pounding rather fast. </p><p>“She’s an AI, Ned. I made her.”</p><p>Ah. Not even ten feet into his living space and Ned is already in over his head. It doesn’t get easier, Peter concludes. It will always be hard telling someone that everything they knew about him was a lie. </p><p>Peter closes his eyes and takes a moment to prepare himself, then resumes his mission to get comfortable on the couch. </p><p>“An AI? As in Artificial Intelligence? I had no idea you knew how to do that.”</p><p>“There’s a lot you don’t know. And I’m sorry about that. That’s why you’re here.”</p><p>MJ doesn’t follow them to the living room, and instead heads to the kitchen while saying, “Maybe try not to be so ominous?” She salutes before continuing. “I’m gonna grab a coffee and wait in your room. You two just... talk it out.”</p><p>Peter nods his head at her, but she’s already working the Keurig. Turning his attention back to Ned, he starts. “You’re confused.”</p><p>“Hell yeah I’m confused.” He states, while looking around and feeling the plush fabric of the throw blanket underneath him. “How can you guys afford all this? Seriously. What does Angela <em>do?</em> Is she really a famous book writer or chef? Because, c’mon, this place must cost like— like a <em>million</em> dollars.”</p><p>“Two million actually.” Peter butts in. </p><p>To which, Ned drops his jaw at, “I—“ </p><p>But before he can finish, Peter starts his well thought-out explanation that will surely turn into a ramble anyways. “I should start by saying that Angela is <em>not</em> famous. And she’s not a shield agent either.” Ned kinda of pouts at that. “She actually... well, she doesn’t exist. This is my place. I pay for it.” Peter looks down and watches his fingers push the cuticles back on his opposite hand. “My job is more than just uh, a job, really. Have you ever heard of Alexo Industries?”</p><p>“Um. Uh, yeah. They’re kinda like SI but they specialize in self-defense technology. Why?”</p><p>“It’s not like SI. Trust me, I should know, I own it.”</p><p>“...You own what?”</p><p>“Alexo.”</p><p>Ned scrunches up his face like he smelled something funny. “You? You own Alexo?” He lets out an unsure chuckle. “You’re messing with me right?”</p><p>“Dead serious,” Peter answers as he looks up from his hands. </p><p>Realizing Peter was telling the truth, Ned’s jaw drops again and his legs starts fidgeting. It was like he had a million questions but couldn’t get not even one out. Finally, “You’re telling me, that I’m best friends with a <em>CEO?</em> And I didn’t know? What the hell? Why didn't I know that? How did that even happen? I— how long? And what about Angela? You made her up? So then, so then, you live alone? By yourself? You don’t have a guardian? How are you not in foster care? How do you even own a company without having a college degree? Or do you somehow have one of those too?”</p><p>Peter lifts his hands to silence Ned, who ignores it and keeps asking questions, until the hand is brought down over his mouth. “I locked my files. And Angela is made up, but she’s still a citizen of America. Technically.”</p><p>“You locked your files? What does that even mean?” Ned asks when there was no longer a hand keeping him from doing so. </p><p>“It means that the government doesn’t know anything about me other than my name. And not even Nick Fury or Tony Stark themselves could hack it.”</p><p>“<em>Could</em> hack it? Does that mean they’ve <em>tried?</em> Wait, that’s a stupid question, of course they haven’t tried. Why would they? That was a figure of speech, right? Right?” Ned’s whole body seemed to be vibrating rather than just his leg now, and he seemed be searching Peter’s face for any kind of answer that wasn’t given through words. </p><p>Peter leaned his back onto the couch and relaxed. If Ned wanted to read him, he’s perfectly okay with that. So, he closes his eyes and begins the other half of his story. </p><p>“I don’t know. They might’ve.” He ignores the sharp intake of breath from Ned. “Mr. Stark contacted me that day I ran out of decathlon. The day I was going to tell you all of this. Well, he less contacted me and more tried hacking into my company. <em>Dick</em>.” Peter pushes that last word out through his teeth. “Fury told him to, because he thought Alexo was fishy. Which it is, because I have Matt Murdock filed as the CEO and my alias as the owner. But it was offensive nonetheless. I don’t even know why Fury cares.</p><p>“I met up with Tony after the competition. We talked business and if he gave up my name to S.H.I.E.L.D., I wouldn’t know. If he did, then I’m sure they could find a hacker to decrypt my files. I haven't heard anything, though, so.”</p><p>It was silent when Peter finished, so he opened one eye to look at Ned. His expression was just about the same. Speechless. It would’ve amused Peter if it didn’t make his heart twinge. His best friend is finding out about this stuff after the fact, when it should’ve been something they shared together. Because it’s exciting. It is. And Ned says as much. </p><p>“You met <em>Tony STARK?</em> Like, ‘oh sure, lemme just throw this in there: I know Ironman. No big deal,’ Peter, what the <em>fuck?</em> Why didn’t you tell me? That is <em>so</em> cool! Like, oh my <em>god!</em>”</p><p>“Ned, let me finish.”</p><p>“Right, sorry. Continue.”</p><p>Peter closes his eyes again and lets his head back down. “This is the actual second half of the story. And I promise, I <em>wanted</em> to tell you. And it’s something I’d been proud of all up until the beginning of summer. And I’m still happy to be doing it, don’t get me wrong. It’s just—“</p><p>“Peter. Breathe. What is it?”</p><p>“I’m Spider-Man.” He didn’t mean to blurt it out, but this part was so agonizing he just wanted to get it over with. He opened his eyes fully and leaned to see Ned’s exact reaction. </p><p>And his eyes widened, he was clearly surprised, but something was off. Then, he laughs. “Peter... I know.” </p><p>Now <em>that</em>, was a slap across the face. He knows? How? Since when? Of course, out of every scenario he ran through his head when imagining this moment, this was one he didn’t. Ned <em>knows?</em> He knew <em>already?</em> </p><p>Noticing Peter’s inner turmoil, Ned continues. “W-well, I mean, I didn’t <em>know</em>. But I had all these crazy ideas, right? You could’ve been a spy for shield like your parents, or Angela for all that I knew about her. Or maybe you were getting in street fights like the rumors, or maybe you were Spider-Man! You know?”</p><p>“Ned, I think that’s literally the <em>first</em> time you made a completely outrageous guess and it was <em>actually</em> right.” Peter looked at him incredulously. It was so unfathomable to him, he almost laughed himself. Here was his secret identity, one of his most gaurded secrets, a huge two-ton weight sitting on this shoulders, and Ned already <em>knew</em>. </p><p>“So yeah. It’s, um, it’s fine. It’s really cool actually! Do you know the avengers? Who’s your least favorite supervillain? What’s Deadpool like? Is Daredevil really blind? Well that’s just a rumor and even I know there’s no way that ones true, so ignore that. Oh my god! That was <em>you</em> in Washington! And— and, oh my god! What about <em>Vulture?</em> You stole Flash’s car! That’s so awkward by the way, you totally ditched your homecoming date to go arrest her dad and crash a plane—“</p><p>“NED! Look, buddy, I’m glad your cool with this. But you need to <em>slow down.</em>” Peter takes a deep breath. Seriously, he must not be getting very much oxygen because he seems to do that a lot. “It’s- it’s not that cool. I’m not an Avenger, none of them even know I’m enhanced except for maybe Romanov. And I- I can’t save everyone, so.” Peter’s tries to swallow the lump in his throat. </p><p>Noticing the change in atmosphere, Ned pushes aside his wild thoughts to determine what his best friend could be getting choked about. And then, it hits him. “Is this... are you talking about... Gwen?”</p><p>Peter’s eyes were tearing up and a pink wave was riding up his face. Ned hasn’t seen him this broken in years. He didn’t get to talk to Peter when it actually happened, since he didn’t know where he lived and he never picked up his calls. It was actually the first time they’d talked about it. But... it was over. It happened. And Ned didn’t need to know how. Not if Peter was there and somehow held himself responsible. There’s no way he’d let his best friend tear himself apart to try and explain it. So, he doesn’t wait for Peter to verbally confirm or deny it. </p><p>“Don’t.” Ned shakes his head and looks down when Peter opens his mouth to start. </p><p>“Ned,” his voice cracks, “You don’t understand. I was <em>there</em>. I was <em>so close</em>. And I, and I—“</p><p>“Stop. You don’t have to tell me. Whatever happened, I’m sure it’s not your fault. And I’m positive she wouldn’t want you to blame yourself. I don’t need to know.” He says firmly. </p><p>And Peter felt so incredibly greatful for Ned Leeds in that moment. He just nods his head and wills the tears to go away. No matter how many times Peter drank the memory away, it always came back hurting just as bad. </p><p class="p2">He wiped his face and tried to change to subject so he could finish debriefing Ned. </p><p>“As for Daredevil, what you said earlier about him being blind— totally true. And totally badass.” Peter laughs with glistening eyes. It was a weak segway, but Ned took it for what it was all the same. </p><p class="p2">“<em>Seriously?</em> How is that even possible? Man, imagine how dumb the bad guys feel after learning they were taken out by a blind guy in Hell’s Kitchen!” </p><p>“Yeah. Yeah it’s pretty funny.” </p><p>They continued on for a while. Peter explained the same things he did to MJ, also leaving out the girls, drugs, sex, and alcohol. He didn’t want to discuss that. It was his all time low and something he was deeply ashamed about. He talked about his origin story that began after May died, because really, that’s what it was. An origin story. They were joking around when MJ walked back in. They didn’t know what time it was, but it must’ve been around dinner time or late into the night because she said she was hungry and offered to order pizza. Peter and Ned confirmed that that sounded good and went back into conversation when she stepped into the kitchen to make the phone call. </p><p>Ned was dying laughing. “I mean, I always wondered what you were hiding— but <em>this?</em> I never thought any of my wild theories would actually be right!”</p><p>“Yeah, man. You <em>totally</em> took me by surprise. I thought, of all things, Spider-Man would be the one you’d freak out over.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em> freaking out! Like seriously! Don’t say his name! Or— or <em>your</em> name. Or, oh my god. How does that even work?”</p><p>“Personally? For a while I thought about me and my alter ego as different people. Because when I go on patrol I feel like a different person, but maybe that’s just because I’m using my powers.”</p><p>Ned shook his head, “For real mean. That’s still so crazy to me. A <em>spider?</em> Where is it? Can it bite me? Or, it probably would’ve hurt right? You know what, even if it did hurt. I’d let it bite me. M-maybe. How much did it hurt?”</p><p>“Spider’s dead, Ned.”</p><p>MJ walks back in as she hangs up the phone and plops onto the couch in between them. “Thirty minutes. Wanna watch a movie?”</p><p>Ned didn’t seem to be done with his questions, but his shoulders sag as a clear indication that he’d given up. If Michelle wanted to watch a movie, they’d watch a movie. </p><p>Peter silently laughs at his obedience before grabbing the remote from the side table and handing it the MJ. she scrolled for a while before picking <em>Heart of Iron: The Tony Stark Story</em> with a side glance to Peter. It was nice. Now, everything he kept secret for so long was like an inside joke between the three of them. It felt free. He could talk about how crazy it was meeting the Avengers, how cool they all were, how Tony was ‘less of a dick and more of a sarcastic asshole,’ how a patrol went, how things are going at Alexo, anything. If Peter acted completely and unrestrictedly like himself for the rest of the night, nobody said anything. They were just glad to have a moment together that felt like old times.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Can you guys see the story as your read it? I try describing everything the best that I can bc like, in my opinion, the best stories are always the ones you can imagine. </p><p>I should really time how long it takes me to write these chapters like phew I’m pretty sure it’s been a fair three hours at LEAST and there’s probably STILL typos! Man, props to book editors</p><p> </p><p>HEY! I literally edited this chapter after posting to add this part in the end notes: I made a discord! My name is the same as it is on here (squishychiminie#7680), and there’s a server/channel that you can use if ANYONE ever wants to explain an idea you have for the story in more depth to me :) I have a general idea on where I want this to go, but I’m definitely open for creative input !</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Tony Was Less Of A Dick And More Of A Sarcastic Asshole</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 3972<br/>I’m currently getting my hair dyed and I also wrote this v sleep deprived so PLS lmk if there’s too much word vomit or it it’s just too messy to follow in general! I didn’t proof-read either but ughh ive been waiting to get another spiderman part and I also haven’t posted in like two weeks so just wanted to get something out &gt;.&lt;</p><p>Edit: shit I totally forgot to add the tw lol this chapter can totally be graphic to some ppl. I must’ve been feelin some type of way dnalkal</p><p>SO YEAH. TRIGGER WARNING! VIOLENCE, GORE/BLOOD, LANGUAGE, DRUGS</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">Ned and MJ stayed the night. The morning was thankfully routine, as Ned still seemed to be handling the news exceptionally well. They had a quick breakfast, Peter drove them all to school, and it was a normal day.</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Now, he hadn’t gone on patrol in four nights, but that doesn’t mean Peter wasn’t keeping tabs. There’s a new drug on the streets, and it’s </span> <span class="s1">very</span> <span class="s2"> dangerous. Some autopsies of recently diseased individuals were released to the public. They were seemingly healthy teens and adults; even their family’s statements said each were not the kind of person to get mixed up with narcotics. Only the adults’ files were public, and not every death even </span> <em><span class="s1">got </span></em> <span class="s2">investigated. But, nonetheless, an unidentified substance was the connection between all thirteen deaths.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">But what does it matter? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘They’re just addicts.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘They did it to themselves.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘Not even worth looking into.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Nobody cares.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Except for Spider-Man. There’s no way every single family, all thirteen of them, would claim there was nothing wrong before the event of their loved one’s deaths. No Indication was ever given that those people were hiding a drug addiction, and not everyone’s that good at lying. Something changed. And luckily, Peter had some contacts. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“There’s a new party drug. Heard of it?”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Max, a kid Peter met in the summer, lit a cigarette and nodded. “Yeah. Dice.”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“It’s called Dice?”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“That’s just what everybody’s callin’ it. Don’t know if the sellers have a name for it, but Dice works cuz takin’ it’s like rollin’ one.” Max leans back on the ratty couch.</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">They were in an abandoned building around Hell’s Kitchen. A lot of teenagers with bad home lives come here to sleep, smoke, plan petty thefts, and Peter doesn’t really want to know what else.</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“What you want with it?”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Peter runs his hand through his hair. “I want to find it.”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Max immediately stands up and stares at Peter hard. “You’re not gonna take it are you? Thought you were doin’ good. Besides, a buddy of mine took that and he was number four. It poisons most people. If you’re gonna do something, do coke. Or somethin’ pure. I don’t wanna see—“</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“Hey, calm down. I’m not gonna take it.”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“Then why do you wanna find it?”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em><span class="s1">Peter huffs and sits down next to Max, plucking the cigarette from the gang leader’s hand and placing it between his own lips. “Don’t tell me this is stupid,” he starts, blowing out the black smoke. “I wanna know where it’s coming from. I </span> <span class="s2">want</span> <span class="s1"> to know who the chemist is. I just need a start.”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“You’re tellin’ me, that you’re gonna get involved in somethin’ like that? They’ll kill you.”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Peter takes another drag and smiles as Max, “I’d like to them try.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">Max looks down, shaking his head and laughing a little. “Man, you </span></em><span class="s2">are </span><em><span class="s1">a suicidal motherfucker.” He takes out another cigarette and snaps to call a friend over when his own lighter won’t spark. “Look, I want that shit off the street too,” he continues when the guy leaves back to the group on the other side of the room, “and I don’t know how you’d possibly do it, but I </span></em><span class="s2">do </span> <span class="s1"> <em>know where you could start. Dylan knows a girl who wanted to buy some. She asked him about it, he told her to stay away, but she’s goin’ anyway. An ‘act of defiance against her parents’ or some shit.” He takes another hit from the cigarette before calling Dylan over.</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Peter nods at him as a greeting, and Dylan does the same before turning to address Max. “What’s up?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“That girl. The one who wanted to buy Dice, </em> <em>you know? Where’s she goin’ to get it?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“Like where’s the deal at?” Dylan looks between the two on the couch. He’s never met Peter, but he must’ve looked trustworthy despite the black hoodie covering half his face and the old alcohol-stained jeans, because Dylan gets out his phone to read some text messages. After a moment, he tells, “She said some place not far from here. On the corner of West 34th and 33rd Street.”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">Peter sat up straight, “When?”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>Dylan titled his head at him and pocketed his p</em> </span> <em>hone. He looked at Max, who raised a hand in a gesture to say ‘just tell him what he wants to know.’ So, Dylan shrugged and turned back to Peter. “Tonight. Sometime after 10:30, when it’s dark.”</em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>“Well, that’s convenient.” Max mumbles around his cigarette. “Thanks, Dyl,” he dismissed. (Dylan walked away mumbling</em> <em>something suspiciously like ‘you know I hate that nickname.’)</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">With that, Peter took the cigarette from his mouth and held it between his fingers, jokingly bowed at Max, and started to leave.</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“Hey, wait!” Max stood up and jogged the short distance to Peter. “You be careful, ‘ight? I don’t wanna lose another one of my guys.”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Peter grabbed his friend’s shoulder and grinned, “aren’t I always careful?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“<em>No. You’re </em></span> <span class="s2">never </span> <em> <span class="s1">careful.”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“See ya!” Peter saluted and ran out the door.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Pinching the bridge of his nose, Max chuckled, “crazy bastard.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter was on the roof of a building, watching the drug deal. There were two cars farther up the street. Probably reinforcements incase anything went wrong— which means, this guy’s probably new. The buyer is also new, just as Dylan said she’d be. She’s looking around, shaking, but still focused enough to want to go through with buying the Dice. From what Peter knew, it was like a cross between Ecstasy, PCP, and opioids.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">When Karen zoomed, the drug looked like a neon green goo in a small plastic baggy that had a label on it. The sticker was of a smiling gray skull with the eyes crossed out in pink. </span> <em><span class="s1">Yeah, that looks totally safe.</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Karen, can you run a search on that? Maybe there’s more info on the dark web.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">After a few seconds, </span> <em> <span class="s1">‘I’m sorry, Peter. There’s nothing on public files.’</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Public?” He says aloud as he swings down to the two people in the street. He needs to stop it before the deal has a chance to finish.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The drug dealer startles and pulls a gun out to point it at the girl. “Did you set us up!?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What!?” She has her hands up and is shaking more violently now. Seriously, why are all these innocent teenagers getting mixed up in this? “N-no! I told you! I’m friends with Bryan.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">But the dealer wasn’t listening. He was looking at the vans up the road, which were now turned on and coming closer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Can’t you see you’re scaring the poor girl?” Peter shoots a web at the gun and yanks until it clatters to the floor. Then he shoots another at the guy’s hands to make makeshift handcuffs. Stepping closer, Peter leans down to take $80 out of his shirt pocket and tosses the rolled money back to the girl. “Take your money back. What’s your name?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Alice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Well, Alice, do me a favor?” Alice nodded as Peter stood up to look at her fully. “Don’t get involved in this stuff. I don’t want to see you on the next front page.” Peter kicks the guy on the ground to flip him over and take the remaining drugs to be sold from his back pockets. There were at least five packets of Dice and a couple normal ones like cocaine and molly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Alice was watching him, less scared now but slowly backing away to leave. When she saw she wasn’t going to be stopped, she turned all the way around and began to run.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Oh! And, Alice?” Peter called. She stopped and looked at him. “Maybe stop being friends with Bryan, too. Doesn’t sound like good company.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">She huffed a little at that. Probably mad that a stranger was judging her friends, but nodded all the same before running off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The van was all the way pulled up now, and a couple guys came out just as she left.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“What the </span> <em><span class="s1">fuck, </span></em><span class="s1">Seven!</span><span class="s2"> Boss is gonna </span> <em><span class="s1">kill </span></em> <span class="s2">you!” One guy says.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Boss is gonna kill </span> <em><span class="s1">you </span></em> <span class="s2">if you don’t shut the fuck up.” Said other man says under his breath while elbowing the first guy.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">They’re all wearing normal street clothes, and all their faces are exposed too. But they use <em>code names? Okay, sounds kinda counterproductive but whatever. </em>Which means, if they expected cops when they came to watch the deal, they didn’t care if their face was seen. So, either they don’t exist on public records, or they’d kill anybody to not get caught. Peter didn’t need to consider much to assume the latter. Mostly, because he now has five guns pointed at him.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“You know,” one of them whispers, but Peter can hear it thanks to his heightened senses, “as much as I’d </span> <em><span class="s1">love </span></em> <span class="s2">to kill Spider-Man, we should probably wait to hear back from K.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Nah, man. He won’t even have to know it was us if he </span> <span class="s1"><em>is</em> </span> <span class="s2">mad. But he won’t be.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Well, just, if we mess up, okay? If we mess up, and do something without asking him first, he’ll kill us.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“What if he kills us for </span> <em><span class="s1">not </span></em> <span class="s2">doing it while we have the chance?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter was a little confused. They literally have him cornered. If he were to try to aim a web at a gun to take it, the other four guys would shoot him. But they’re </span> <em><span class="s1">bickering </span></em> <span class="s2">and losing focus and, </span> <em><span class="s1">oh. </span><span class="s1">This is my chance.</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">With the guns slightly lowered, Peter webs the only guy actually watching him in the face as he runs up to them. He twists the first ones arm, making him drop the gun. Now the other four are paying attention, but Peter uses the man as a shield so they won’t shoot. He then webs the two guys that were arguing together and dodges a bullet fired by one of the last two standing, webbing those two together as well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What the shit?” One of them whispers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter pretends to dust off his shoulders, “Honestly, you gotta get better at this part of the job.” It was funny to him, but only because nobody else knew he was quoting someone he met at the beginning of Spider-Man. “Welp, I’ll the cops deal with the rest of you.” He salutes and swings around the corner, making it look like he left. But really, Peter was making his way back up the building he was waiting on before. If the first one’s webbing dissolves, he’ll most likely call his boss and then Peter can trace the signal to their HQ.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">But just as he was scaling the wall, he felt a subtle shiver up his spine. Something’s going to happen. Peter stopped and listened. It sounded like the dealer’s webbing was already dissolving; he was up and whispering to himself something that Peter couldn’t quite pick up from where he was. But the silence was cut my gunfire, and that was all he needed to hear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter quickly went up the rest of the building and ran to the edge, ready to jump back off and save whoever was being shot at but— it was too late. Just as his eyes caught the scene in front of him, he heard the angry shouting from the last man get cut off abruptly by the echo of a bullet.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">There on the concrete, lay four guys bleeding out with a hole in each of their heads. The dealer was holding a Revolver in a shaking hand, still extended out towards the men he shot. </span> <em><span class="s1">Why would he shoot his own team? </span></em> <span class="s2">The dealer looked around, then back at the blood. It was like he was surprised at himself, or scared of </span> <span class="s1"><em>something</em>, </span> <span class="s2">at least. Either way, he rubbed his sweating hands onto his jeans, put the gun into one of the guys’ back pockets, and ran to the van parked a few meter way.</span></p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">What the hell? </span></em> <span class="s2">There... wasn’t much Peter could do. The dealer was starting the engine and the guys were already dead... so. He jumped down from the building when the van was down the road, dissolved the webbing still on the men (don’t want JJ Jameson blaming him for that), and ran back to the side of the street.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Karen, can you give me an estimated route so I don’t lose him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘Analyzing all eligible courses. Tracking license number 67F52K0. Peter, take a right at this stop sign for a short cut.’</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Thanks. Can you also contact the NYPD and give an anonymous tip? Four dead on the corner of 33rd and 34th?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘Already done.’</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter’s mind was racing. For one, he felt like a sociopath for not freezing upon seeing that much blood. Who witnesses a homicide and is more concerned about cleaning themselves from the suspect list? And this drug deal may be leading to something much bigger than he thought. The fact that there was back up (dead, as they might be) at all means that he worked for a group— no, </span> <span class="s1"><em>organization</em>. </span> <span class="s2">A cartel. They all kept saying </span> <span class="s1">‘<em>Boss</em>,’ </span> <span class="s2">and maybe that’s what, or rather, </span> <span class="s1"><em>who</em>, </span> <span class="s2">he was so scared of. The dealer definitely doesn’t make the produce himself. Again, he was new. Maybe the boss does. Or maybe, the boss just distributes it for an ally. Maybe he’s an organized crime boss? Like Kingpin? It would make sense. The spots been open ever since Matt brought Fisk down. This </span> <span class="s1"><em>one</em> </span> <span class="s2">drug bust could lead to anything. From experience, Peter knows that drug dealers have suppliers. And suppliers have chemists. Chemists have distributers, and it goes full circle. The distributer could be anybody, or </span> <span class="s1"><em>nobody</em>. </span> <span class="s2">A shadow that connects all crimes of the night. They could be involved in drug cartels, human trafficking, gang violence, illegal weapons selling, organized murder, </span> <span class="s1"><em>anything.</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Or, Peter could be over thinking. And he should probably stop, as the van has parked on the docks near the Ferry for Staton Island. The drug dealer gets out, still shaken up, but seemingly more confident. He must’ve made up a story during the drive.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">The dealer sends a text, which Karen, unfortunately, can’t get into. But it doesn’t matter, because a small yacht about 500ft out turns and starts making it’s way towards the docks; assuming that’s who the dealer texted. </span> <em><span class="s1">Is </span></em> <span class="s2">that</span><em> <span class="s1">their HQ? Seriously? A boat?</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The tough part would be getting on. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">When the yacht was close enough to the deck, a guy dressed fully in black (cliché much?) unrolled the bridge so the dealer could get on. Peter would have to find another entrance. So when they shut the door, he wasted no time in swinging from his hiding spot in the shadows onto the top of the boat where nobody stood.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Closing his eyes, Peter listened got any sign of where everyone might be onboard. </span> <span class="s1"><em>Two in the dining area. One in the bathroom, gross. Two playing pool outside a room where five are gathered. Four out of the five are armed. That must be where the boss is.</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">With his newly obtained information, Peter stuck to the ceiling and stealthily avoided being seen while making his way to the main room. It seemed the dealer and the guard were on their way too, so it worked out perfectly. Luckily, there was no door to the room. The floor only raised a foot and changed to carpet, so when Peter crawled in on the ceiling, the dim lights and open wall did him a favor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">There was a man sitting down at a desk with the four armed guys surrounding them. They each held an AR-15 assault rifle and were also dressed fully in black. Whether it was a gang thing or a camouflage thing, Peter didn’t know.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">The ‘boss’, on the other hand, was dressed in a navy blue Tom Stuart suit. He was white, had dark hair, facial hair, and seemed to be in his mid-to-late 30’s. </span> <span class="s1"><em>Young. But also, totally looks like the crime lord I was imagining. Bad news.</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Joaquín!” The boss starts in a learned accent. He stood up upon seeing the drug dealer with open arms, as a welcome, and the ghost of a smile. However, his face turned hard when he saw the four other men were not behind him. “Where is Leuko? Scott? Deshawn and that newbie, uh...” he sat down again in mock thought until he snapped his fingers with a fake smile, “Christopher?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“‘Ight. Um...” The dealer, Joaquín, stuttered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Wait!” The boss is up on his feet again, and asks one of the men with the AR-15’s to pull a chair for Joaquín and to get him a snack. Right away, he was brought a dinner plate of seafood. “Dig in. Now, tell me, what happened?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Joaquín looked hesitantly as his boss, who was now leaning his head into his hands as he watched the dealer almost care-free like. But Peter, from his spot in the corner of the room, sticking to the shadows on the high ceiling, knew better. </span> <span class="s1"><em>This guy,</em> </span> <span class="s2">Peter thought, </span> <span class="s1"><em>he’s dangerous. Unpredictable.</em></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“I was sellin’ Dice over in Hell’s Kitchen, ‘n’ the guys was watching from the car like they was supposed to.” He takes a break to finally start eating (if the loud </span> <em><span class="s1">crack </span></em> <span class="s2">of the lobster tail was any indication). Licking his fingers, Joaquín continues, “but ‘en Spider-Man came in— ‘ight? The skank ran away, then the guys came in ‘n’ cornered the bastard. But then he stoled a gun ah’right from De Shawn’s hands and used it ta— ta— I’m sorry...” Joaquín pretended to looked shocked at ‘Spider-Man’s ruthlessness,’ wiping his faces and looking down. “He shot ‘em. All’ve ‘em, dead.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">The boss looked at Joaquín </span> <span class="s1">hard</span> <span class="s2">, then brightens his features almost instantly after. “So! </span> <em><span class="s1">Spider-Man</span></em> <span class="s2"> killed four of my guys. Hmm.” </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">He was standing back up again, pacing on the strip of floor right in front of his desk with his hands clasped behind his back. “You know Joaquín, I didn’t think that </span> <em><span class="s1">prick </span></em> <span class="s2">killed? Hmm.” He stops pacing and started at the dealer with his head tilted, slightly bowing forward.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">The way this guy moves... its... creepy.</span></em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Joaquín stopped eating to meet eyes with his boss. As soon as he did, the crime lord turned around and banged so hard on the desk behind him, that everything on it jumped and fell off. “YOU let, </span> <em><span class="s1">SPIDER-MAN</span></em> <span class="s2"> see you?” He turns back around to face the dealer again, face schooled to a calm expression— completely contradictory to his emotions from before. He lowers his voice and tries to feign casualty, “Did he follow you?” No answer. “I’m asking you now,” he’s yelling again, “DID HE, FOLLOW you?” When Joaquín doesn’t answer right away, the boss just shrugs and ‘hmphs’ before going back to sit at his desk, pressing a button on the table-phone. “Sweep the perimeters. Sedate any presumed hostile intruders.” He pauses before looking at Joaquín, then starts up again, “and bring a whiskey neat. A mop too, probably.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">A mop?</span></em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Joaquín looks entirely unconcerned, but Peter is getting more and more nervous by the minute. They’re less likely to do a sweep in the room he’s in, considering the fact that it’s totally ridiculous he could get so close in the first place. </span> <span class="s1"><em>I mean, really? What kind of crime lord lets a newbie drug dealer see his face? And the security around this place really sucks, not that I’m complaining.</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter’s rambling train of thought was cut short by a guard entering the room at a jog. “No sign of any intruders, Sir.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Hmm.” The boss kicked his feet up onto the desk. “Hey, Joaquín! You done eating?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, yes, Sir. Thank ‘em, it was right good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Good. Good.” He nodded his head along, but Peter’s eyes widened as he saw what he was reaching for. A pistol. “Hey, you there—“ the guard who had come in earlier points at himself in question. “Yes, you. Did you bring the mop? And my whiskey?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Someone will be here with both shortly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The boss huffed out a sigh and put his hands behind his head. “Joaquín. Ya got a family?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I don’ think nobody ‘ould be ‘ere if they did, sir.” It seemed his accent got thicker the more nervous he got.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Just then, a second guard came in with a rolling mop, while a third held a bottle of Jack Daniels and an empty glass cup. They both set their bringings down near the desk, and walked briskly into place next to the armed men who have been standing, ready and motionlessly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The boss stood up slowly, bringing the pistol with him as he twirled it by the trigger behind his back. He opened his mouth to say something, but that’s when Peter made a mistake.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He breathed too loudly. Gasped, really. And every guard nearby aimed their guns in his direction. The boss looked so angry his face was ready to turn purple, but he sharply raised a hand in the air to stop the guards holding the AR-15’s from firing. “Hah!” His boastful laugh definitely didn’t match the heartless expression on his face. This guy was like a walking oxymoron. “Who might be dangling from my ceiling?” He sing-songed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter when to lower himself, bracing himself to take this entire group head-on, until something the boss said made him halt.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Sedate him. Shoot him plenty— who <em>knows</em> how much it takes to knock out a </span> <span class="s1"><em>mutant</em>.</span> <span class="s2">” The last word was spat with so much hate that Peter probably would’ve said something clever about it, if only his blood wasn’t rushing in his ears.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">It wasn’t terror that he felt. Just shock. Like, </span> <em><span class="s1">what can I do?</span></em> <span class="s2"> That feeling, when everyone’s eyes met his location... it’s indescribable. The closest feeling is that pit you get in your stomach when you’re riding a roller coaster, or the anxiety from remembering you didn’t do your homework last night when the teacher asks for it. Those feelings, times a hundred. He thought he was going to lose his grip on the ceiling and just die right there. Peter was surrounded by assault rifles and murderers to man them. He was definitely regretting not calling Matt or Wade— especially now that he can hear the clicks of the triggers go off one by one in almost slow motion. His spidey-sense is screaming and when the darts start coming, he tries dodging them all, but— there’s just too many.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">”Shit.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter falls to the floor and squeezes eyes open and shut harshly to try to fix his vision. It looked like the world was spinning as he saw the boss’ polished shoes step in front of his line of vision. It was like everything stayed in slow motion when he finally pulled the pistol out from behind his back, and aimed it at Joaquín’s head, who was now on the floor and being held down by a guard’s hands and knee. Peter tries to get up, to say something, but all he can do is helplessly watch from where he lays on the floor. </span> <em><span class="s1">This can’t be happening. </span></em> <span class="s2">Peter’s hearing is going in and out, but the gunfire seems to have stopped. It also sounds like... singing? The boss is </span> <em><span class="s1">singing? </span></em> <span class="s2">He’s circling around Joaquín with the gun still pointed. Then, Peter hears the safety lock click as clear as day.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘The itsy bitsy spider, went up the spout again’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <strong> <span class="s3">Bang! </span> </strong> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">The blood from Joaquín’s body spilled when his pleas no longer couldn’t. The red seeped into the carpet and barreled towards Peter’s position on the floor in waves as the boss picked up the mop, threw it at a guard, and told him to, “<em>c</em></span> <span class="s1"><em>lean this shit up</em>,” while kicking the corpse lightly. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He took a swig of his whiskey and smiled at Peter, his faced looking distorted thanks to the<span class="Apple-converted-space"> blood spatter on his cheek and the </span>nausea Peter was still feeling from the darts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Then, everything went black. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Literally don’t hesitate to call me out on my shit if something doesn’t add up or if it’s confusing then let a girl knowww lol second part of this should be up within the week</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Can I At Least Get A Smoke?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 5056<br/>Phew this is one of the long ones! Idk how I feel ab it tho it’s like— *supposed* to be messy bc it’s a lot of Peter’s thoughts :/ uhh lmkk</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"><span class="s1">When Peter starts coming to, his senses awaken one by one. First, he hears the indistinct murmuring of many people around him. But in a few short seconds while he awakens, Peter realizes it’s not that they’re speaking unclearly, but rather, they’re not speaking English at all. The next thing he noticed was that he was being dragged. His back was scraping the cold surface of the floor and his arms were pulled over his head as an anchor to hold onto. </span> <span class="s2"><em>My hands...</em> </span> <span class="s1">there was a clinking sound coming from his wrists which Peter decided was probably handcuffs, but it was weird because he couldn’t really feel them. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Finally, Peter opened his eyes. His head was inexplicably heavy, his vision was still a little blurry, and he definitely still felt nauseated, but he could see enough of his location to know he’s found himself in a </span> <em><span class="s2">really </span></em> <span class="s1">bad situation. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tens of guys were around him, decked out in black suits that had wires connected all around their arms. Every one of them had guns in each hand, all of which had a silencer attached. And, they were wearing some kind of black trooper helmet. Two guys were wearing normal business suits, and they definitely weren’t cheap. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Taking in his surroundings past the weird soldier guys, Peter tried to figure out where he was. And he must’ve not been out long, because it seemed the hardwood was on the yacht, and he was now being dragged across the grass around the docks on the other side of the bay— on Staten Island. He could see the yacht stopped at the deck, entrance door open, and the boss standing casually with one arm on the door frame and his back leg crossed behind his front. He held a shit-eating grin as he watched Peter get pulled away. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The last thing he noticed, was that his mask was gone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Suddenly feeling very awake, Peter tries to turn his head in any direction he can to scan the area for his mask. </span> <span class="s2"><em>My mask!</em> </span> <span class="s1">His breathing was picking up rapidly, almost hyperventilating, because </span> <span class="s2"><em>this is the worst thing that could’ve possibly happened.</em> </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Ever since Gwen died, Peter kept his identity a secret more because he wanted to be in control rather than to protect the people around him. When he dropped Ned and MJ, he didn’t </span> <em><span class="s2">have </span></em> <span class="s1">anyone around him. He was mixing with the wrong crowds and just didn’t really give a fuck about anything in general. But now?</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">His heart dropped for the second time that night when he saw it in a soldier’s hand. Clutched between his dirty fingers and defiled by the putrid hold he had on the wrinkled fabric. And Peter was </span> <span class="s2"><em>mad</em>. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He tried to pull his arms from the man holding them in a flurry, tried to kick the men by his feet, but... he couldn’t... </span> <span class="s2"><em>move. What the fuck? </em></span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It seems that the soldiers have only just now noticed that Peter was awake, due to his weak attempt of an escape. The man in front, the one holding Peter’s mask, laughs. And the furry in his stomach explodes, and he tries kicking and thrashing even </span> <span class="s2"><em>more</em>, </span> <span class="s1">but his body just won’t </span> <span class="s2"><em>respond</em>, </span> <span class="s1">and Peter is feeling so frustrated and helpless that his eyes are squeezed shut and stinging by the time the man comes to stand before him. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He speaks with a thick Russian accent when he stops laughing, “There’s no point little Spider. You were hit with enough tranq darts to disable even Captain America.” He laughs again then squats down, forearms resting on his knees and face merely inches from Peter’s. “I </span> <span class="s2"><em>am</em> </span> <span class="s1">impressed, however, that you’re already </span> <span class="s2"><em>awake</em></span><span class="s1">.” He lets the last word out breathily, then laughs again, making a show of his yellow teeth. Peter gags violently at the smell of his breath, but can’t pull his arms the little he actually </span> <span class="s2"><em>could</em> </span> <span class="s1">move them thanks to the handcuffs. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Why can’t I break these?</em></span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man stands back up and turns to the soldiers, saying something in messy Russian that Peter only caught some of. “дать еще пару инъекций Exparel.” He turned to look back at Peter in disgust, but continued to speak to the soldiers, “пара больше, чем Актив. кажется, он сдерживался.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Exparel? The Asset?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Almost in synchronization, Peter is surrounded by the soldiers and each pull out a syringebefore injecting it in specific parts in each of his limbs in practiced motions. There was a pinch as each needle pushed in and Peter yelled out in pain before another wave of nausea hit him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man said something else, but Peter’s brain was too mashed to listen over the sound of his now pounding heartbeat. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">They started dragging him again, and Peter just laid motionlessly as he tried to recapture his bearings. It was about five minutes later when he felt himself being lifted, and Peter unscrewed his eyes to see them hand him off to the guys in the business suits, who were standing in a white Chevrolet Express. He still couldn’t move, but his mind was back to being fully aware. So, instead of concentrating on how </span> <span class="s2"><em>violated</em> </span> <span class="s1">he felt, Peter tried to focus on his wits. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The men forced him into a seat on the van, and when they positioned his hands into his lap, he was finally able to see why he couldn’t break the handcuffs (even if he </span><span class="s2">was </span> <span class="s1">able to move his limbs, at least a little). Vibranium. Peter had never tested his strength before, but he’s really wishing he had at some point right about now. He’s sure that Steve Rodgers can lift about 800 - 1,100 pounds, as much as a human possibly can. Peter, is <em>not </em>entirely human, no matter how much he doesn’t like to think about it like that. But, he’s not really sure how much would it take to break vibranium. And that’s assuming it’s not compounded with adamantium or uru. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">One of the suit-guys, the one with the blonde hair, jabs his fingers under Peter’s chin and harshly moves them up, causing Peter to snap his attention away from the handcuffs. The guy is clean-cut and significantly less atrocious than the Russian one, as these two men are actually American and have <em>normal-smelling</em> breath. It doesn’t seem like they work directly with these people, so Peter assumes they’re with the Boss. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey!” The blonde guy slaps Peter across the face, “pay attention!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If he were’t super-powered, Peter figures a hit like that would’ve made his mouth bleed. The rings, at least, will be leaving a bruise. Nevertheless, he still doesn’t speak. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Man, he’s so fuckin’ out of it. We can do whatever we want to this little shit and he won’t pick up on any of it.” The brunette guy takes a cigarette from his mouth and puts it out on Peter’s neck, twisting it until the ashes turn black. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter squeezes his eyes shut, but again, says nothing. His silence seemed to annoy the men, because the blonde one spits on his feet and turns to the other saying, “this guy’s fucking boring,” before walking the short distance back to the end of the van and confirming something with the men in the solider gear. After their exchange of words, he twists to laugh at Peter, slam the black doors shut, and bang on the caged wall dividing the front and backseats to signal the driver to start the engine. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sits down on the metal bench opposite Peter then begins talking again, “I’m Connor, by the way. Of course, that’s not my real name, but I’d still like you to have something to remember me bye. This is Wyatt.” He pats ‘Wyatt’ on the chest, who then gets up and pulls a bandana out of his pocket. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Precautionary measures,” Wyatt shrugs and ties the bandana over Peter’s eyes unnecessarily tight. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s go, general!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>General?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The van starts moving and Peter instantly rewires his attention to his other senses, as he clearly can’t depend on his sight anymore. He wonders what they want from him, how he got here, and how to get out as the van travels down the road. Connor and Wyatt were telling him about their history with the FBI, and how they have gotten away with countless crimes, but Peter honestly thought it was bullshit. </span><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The air smelt like dry cement and gasoline, so it’s clear they weren’t moving along the coasts of Staten Island anymore. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Are they taking me to an operation in the middle of the island? Is that even a thing?</em></span> <span class="s1"> The guys have stopped talking, as they’ve probably gotten bored again at Peter’s lack of answers. He had been counting every turn since they left the docks. It won’t be that hard to remember, since most of the ride’s been down one path. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>Straight, then left, another right. That means we’re headed South.</em> </span> <span class="s1">Peter takes in a deep breath. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Salty air. The highway along the river? </em></span> <span class="s1">He heard the bumping coming from under the tires of the vehicle. </span> <span class="s2"><em>No, stupid. it’s a bridge. We’re crossing a bridge.</em> </span> <span class="s1">Peter’s heart jumped when he realized. </span> <span class="s2"><em>New Jersey. </em></span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You’re being awfully quiet. I hear you have an outstanding IQ. You don’t look like a bloodthirsty murder. Can’t believe a kid like </span> <em><span class="s2">you </span></em> <span class="s1">killed our guys,” Wyatt lilts. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You don’t look like the FBI either.” Peter smirks and turns to the men despite the blindfold. “Suits all by Tom Stuart, neckties by Franco Facci. And Holden straight last shoes. Not to mention you said </span> <span class="s2"><em>‘our.’</em> </span> <span class="s1">You make it too easy, it’s laughable.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two look at each other before Connor speaks up. “I see. What they said about you is true, then.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Maybe. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Or,</em> </span> <span class="s1">you’re just not as inconspicuous as you think.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They didn’t talk after that, and about thirty minutes later they came to a stop. Peter deducts that they’re probably near Newark, maybe in Short Hills— if he remembers anything from his free-time learning the cities located in and around New York. You know, as you do. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Shortly after they parked, the men stood up and unblinded Peter, pushing him out of his chair and out the van before his eyes could even adjust. The ‘general’ didn’t come out, and instead put the van back into drive and went around the building to where a parking lot probably was in the back. A couple more solider-guys with silenced guns were waiting for him, as he saw their boots from where his line of sight was on the ground. Wyatt pulled him by his collar so he’d look up, and the ugly soldiers picked him the rest of the way up and forced him to follow them into the building, Peter barely being able to pick up his feet. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were approaching a large warehouse that didn’t really seem all the beat up, for once. It was probably an active and maybe even certified small building. Not much else could be seen; it was like they were in the middle of a forrest with how many trees surrounded them. But how any of this could be legal, Peter wasn’t sure. The warehouse itself probably didn’t even legally <em>exist.</em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">With the tall metal doors now in a meter’s distance, his Spidey Sense suddenly jolted. It had been tingling up his neck this entire time, but was relatively dormant all the same. So, something is </span> <span class="s2"><em>seriously</em> </span> <span class="s1">wrong now. </span> <span class="s2"><em>I have to do something. </em></span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter quickly reevaluated the men around him. Connor and Wyatt were surprisingly unarmed; there was no clanking of a gun and no scratching of a knife against an inside pocket. They did, however, have decorated knuckles. The three soldiers were a different story. Peter still didn’t really know what was up with their ‘uniform.’ The wires could lead to anything, the batons sounded strangely like an electric circuit, and the guns were pretty self-explanatory. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Better to try. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter quickly turned and kicked Connor in the shin as hard as he could, and wacked the solider opposite upside the head with his vibranium handcuffs. He still couldn’t really feel his arms, but at least he could swing them recklessly around. It would’ve been a pathetic sight if anyone there thought he wasn’t already. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It didn’t last long anyway. A chill went up the back of Peter’s neck, but his movements were still incredibly sluggish because of the Bupivacaine (Exparel). Before he could move out of the way, one of the soldiers prodded him with a baton, and the weird sound Peter heard from them suddenly made sense as a surge of energy wracked through his veins and seemed to stab every muscle in his body. He promptly fell to the floor and Connor and Wyatt threw punch after punch at him, and he was sure he’d been hit by the batons a couple more times too, but it was mostly white noise and pressure. Of course, it hurt. And Peter was seriously starting to wonder if he had ever felt that much startling pain before. And if he had ever felt this helpless before— he hasn’t. Not physically, at least. It was clear, that these people had been watching him. Studied him. They know he’s enhanced, obviously. But what else do they know? </span> <em><span class="s2">My super hearing? My sixth sense? Do they know exactly how strong I am? </span></em><span class="s1">I </span><em><span class="s2">don’t even know that. </span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It seemed they brought Peter in through the doors while he was in his head, and they injected more Exparel to avoid another instance where he could possibly get away while they were bringing him in. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Taking a look around, Peter was being held up almost all the way by the men as they pushed him through the winding halls. It was dank and the lights were dim, except for the red exit signs that cascaded the glowing color on all the walls. They were passing rooms quickly. Some were closed off by metal doors, some had two-way glass— it was an eerie feeling to think people could be watching him. There were also some rooms that looked like labs with fluorescent lights, tables, papers, and test tubes full of suspicious and viscous liquids. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Finally, the men stopped in front of one of the metal doors at the end of a hall. A solider took a scan card out of his pocket and held it in front of a pad next to the door before it clicked open. They once again pushed Peter into a metal chair, seating him down with his hands behind his back and tying his already-cuffed hands with a rope that also snaked up and wrapped around his throat. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If Peter muttered, “Kinky,” when they tightened it, no one said anything. They did, however, leave a sizable bruise on the side of his face and a bloody lip. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And now, Peter sat in the cell by himself. Taking a look around, there wasn’t much. A metal bed attached to the wall, and— well that’s it. Besides the chair he was currently tied to in a very creative way.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It took maybe twenty minutes for Peter to completely adjust to his situation and, actually, get pretty bored by it. So, he decided to entertain himself. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He started by making faces at the one way glass on the wall, hoping that someone was at least behind it. There were speakers in the corners of the room, so clearly, he wasn’t being annoying enough. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, guys? I’m actually pretty bored.” No answer. So, he whistles out of tune for a few minutes before trying to strike up conversation again. “Yo! I got school tomorrow!” No answer. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“...Can I at least get a smoke?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Shut the </span> <span class="s2"><em>fuck</em></span> <span class="s1"> up! God</span> <span class="s2"><em>damn.”</em></span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Oh! So you </span> <span class="s2"><em>do</em> </span> <span class="s1">care.” If Peter could move his hands, he’d press one over his heart. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A few moments later, a guard unlocks the door with that signature card they all seem to have. Peter smirked at him, even as the guard stormed in and beat him repeatedly. “Wipe that fucking smile off your face. You havin’ fun now? Still bored?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, actually.” Peter looks to the side and spits out a glob of blood. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And, so, he was delivered a few more blows. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was stupid, really. He didn’t know why he felt like being so defiant. Maybe it was to prove a point. Maybe, it was to feel something. Either way, when Peter was finally alone again, he just felt exhausted. The rope around his neck had already left burn marks from when his head was whipped side to side by the guard. The suit must somehow enhance their strength, because he was positive that there was no way he’d be hurt so bad if that weren’t the case. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Either way, Peter was tired. And he couldn’t explain why, but he didn’t really feel like fighting anymore. It was like the life had been drained from his body as he remembered all the blood and death he’d seen that day, and how the gunshots reminded him of Ben’s death. And how the cars reminded him of </span> <span class="s2"><em>May’s</em></span> <span class="s1"> death, even though they never triggered anything before. The helplessness he felt by being numbed and electrocuted constantly made him think of </span> <span class="s2"><em>Gwen’s</em> </span> <span class="s1">death. And maybe, just maybe, Peter had wanted that guard to come in and hurt him. Because he wanted to feel something for ruining so many lives. Maybe he thought he had it too good, after <em>everything. </em>And maybe, he let his head lull as the exhaustion washed over him and thought, </span> <span class="s2"><em>i’ll deal with this tomorrow. </em></span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he did. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been asleep, but he was awoken by a ‘doctor’ coming in and telling him the itinerary for the day. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello,” he looks at a clipboard before looking back up at a dirty and beaten teenager who wore the notorious ripped up Spider-Man suit. To the doctor, it didn’t matter who he was. But, he gives him the pleasantry of using his name at least once. “...Peter.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter only stares. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Good. You seem to have at least </span> <span class="s2"><em>some</em></span> <span class="s1"> common sense.” He writes something down. “My name is Doctor Emmett. You’ll be coming to my lab in about an hour, then you’ll see K. I’ve been informed you’ve already met. You won’t talk to the other inmates, you won’t tell anyone your name. You’ll answer to Spider, and you’ll keep quiet unless spoken to.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And if I don’t?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Doctor looks up from the clipboard with an icy gaze— as if he hated Peter to his very core, and wanted to see nothing but him burning in the pits of Hell. He broke the glare only to reach in his lab coat, pulling out a small device with a button on it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">It was then that Peter realized the rope around his neck had been replaced with a collar while he was passed out. </span> <span class="s2"><em>How did I not wake up? My Spidey Sense— did they drug me again?</em></span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">A sharp pain crawled up his spine before Dr. Emmett pressed the button, sending waves 10x stronger than that of the batons. The electricity seemed to laugh maniacally as it slashed through his veins and took hold of every cell in his body with a seizing grip. It was probably the worst pain he’d ever felt, and he just couldn’t understand </span> <span class="s2"><em>why</em> </span> <span class="s1">this was happening. Or </span> <span class="s2"><em>how, </em></span><span class="s1">for that matter. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“That.” The Doctor smiled coldly, but it was genuine. He was </span> <span class="s2"><em>amused</em>. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Anger ran through Peter once again, and when Dr. Emmett left, claiming to be back in a few short minutes, he needed </span> <span class="s2"><em>out</em>. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">No more sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I’m not gonna stay here for however fucking long they think they’ll have me. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter glanced towards the two-way glass, silently praying that no one was behind it; watching. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">But if they were, he figured he had literally less than a minute to get out. Although, these people seemed seriously over confident, so maybe... </span> <em><span class="s2">hopefully...</span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t feel like thinking up a better idea. So, Peter looked around, as if casually checking out the room. Then, he braces himself by biting his tongue and...</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <em> <span class="s3">Crack!</span> </em> </strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He brakes both his thumbs as the same time. Scrunching up his face and letting out a deep breath, Peter slides his hands out of the vibranium cuffs and scurries over to the keypad on the door. They’ve all used a scan card so far, but there were 10 numbers to choose from for a four-digit passcode. So, if he could deduct the combination based on finger grease, personality, and hints from his setting— he may be able to crack the code. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">This was significantly different than that time Peter had gotten locked in the DODC in Washington, as he had Karen to help. But it didn’t matter. He had to </span> <span class="s2"><em>think</em>. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Think back. Think! </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter replayed the events from the night before. Replayed and slowed down every time he took a look around. Every time he looked for details.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>The number of guards. There must’ve been around seventeen by the yacht. No— not important.</em> </span> <span class="s1">Peter skipped through until he was on the van. </span> <span class="s2"><em>A thirty-five minute ride from the docks to what is probably Short Hills— No, not that either.</em> </span> <span class="s1">It was like he was sorting through memories on a holotable in his mind, swiping away unnecessary facts, and organizing everything into separate folders. </span> <span class="s2"><em>There must be something, something... </em></span> <span class="s1">he remembers flashes of the guns they were using, how many turns it took to get there, the area code for the district. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Something deep, something I overlooked...</em> </span> <span class="s1">there’s a flash of the logo on the soldiers arms, an orange octopus. </span> <span class="s2"><em>There! Wait... why there? Why... why is that important?</em> </span> <span class="s1">He begins running through everything it could mean. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Get rid of the orange. Octopus. Octopi. Octo. Eight— No, no.</em> </span> <span class="s1">The entrance to the building, the shape of the building, </span> <em><span class="s2">the halls. The labs. What were in the labs? Vials, yes. But what else? </span></em> <span class="s1">Peter goes back to his short glance into the bright rooms. He pauses the photo-memory and mentally zooms. </span> <em><span class="s2">What was behind the scientist? </span> <span class="s1">There were long white tables, a metal bed with straps, files. </span> <span class="s2">Files. What did the files say? </span></em> <span class="s1">He searches through his thoughts, </span> <span class="s2"><em>asset. They said that before, ‘Asset.’ </em>What<em> was an asset?</em> </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter rapidly arranges every memory he has of the word. </span> <em><span class="s2">Asset. Who’s an asset? Wait— who. Who? Yes, who. The files— they’re documents. The metal bed, the vials— they’re for experiments. Who would they have files on? Why would they have files? The octopus. The files. The asset. </span></em> <span class="s1">Peter gasps for air when he opens his eyes to see the keypad still in front of him. The room is silent, as he’s no longer thinking, and his head aches like it’s been pounded by bricks of cement. But... he’s got it. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Hydra</em>. </span> <span class="s1">How could he have been so stupid? Of </span> <em><span class="s2">course </span></em> <span class="s1">it’s Hydra. Although, the only time he’s ever heard of it was during the WW2 section of his History class. He thought it was completely dismantled after the whole debacle with the S.H.I.E.L.D. infiltration, and even </span> <em><span class="s2">that </span></em> <span class="s1">was barely on public sites. He had to search for it. But, </span> <em><span class="s2">Asset. </span> <span class="s1">That was “Bucky” Barnes. </span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">But how does that help?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter knows he sorts through memories way faster than it seems. He was probably only thinking for about thirty seconds. So, what did he learn? What’s helpful? What holds four numbers? </span> <em> <span class="s2">WW2, Asset, files, vials, Ocotopus, Hydra, WW2, Buchanan Barnes, Asset, Winter Soldier, World War Two...</span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s2">Hydra. What do I know about it? </span></em> <span class="s1">Peter thinks about the few people he’s met, the things he remembers from History, the things he know about their behavior. Their thought process. </span> <em><span class="s2">They’re confident. Arrogant. Boastful. Proud. Proud... in their work. Their organization...</span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">With not much time left, Peter relocates his thumbs (probably should’ve done that earlier. God forbid they heal that way) and types in a pass code. </span> <span class="s2"><em>1937</em>. <em>The year they were founded.</em></span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The door clicks open with a soft </span> <span class="s2">‘shhh’ </span> <span class="s1">and he wastes no time in ripping the metal off his throat and scaling the walls onto the ceiling. Listening for any sound of footsteps from each corridor, he navigates his way through the halls. His first stop was at the lab he scoped when he first entered this Hellhole, which actually held his mask, as he’d seen before but had discarded as useless information at the moment. Thankfully, the scientist wasn’t there. But, there’s still Dr. Emmett, who was probably on his way to Peter’s room right now— assuming he’s not already there and calling for every handler in the facility. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He quickly grabbed his mask and put it on, wasting no time by answering Karen’s greeting and continuing on as he still heard no sign of trouble. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">At least, he thought he heard nothing, but he should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. This is a terrorist group that’s been active since the 30s, who’ve been working with enhanced individuals/mutants for decades, who’ve passed down notes for generations. Peter was in too much of a hurry to notice that he literally heard </span><span class="s2"><em>nothing</em>. This <em>whole</em></span><span class="s1">time.</span> <span class="s1">That doesn’t happen. He always hears </span><span class="s2"><em>something</em>. </span><span class="s1">The dripping of water coming from the leaky pipes, the whispers of people two floors down, the smacking of lips from next door when someone eats their lunch. </span><em><span class="s2">The walls. They’re sound proof. </span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">This seemed to be the prefect moment for Parker Luck to hit him full force, as he turned a corner into a room. Filled... with agents. And guards. And, and— </span> <span class="s2"><em>projects. Assassins.</em> </span><span class="s1">His Spidey Sense drilled into his skull like it was angry at him for ignoring it this whole time. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And he was angry at </span> <span class="s2"><em>himself</em>. </span> <span class="s1">Because, really, how many stupid mistakes is he going to make? All attention was on him for half a second before ten men aimed their rifles at him and a girl with dark brown hair in a black skin-tight suit stood in the back, bearing her claws. </span> <em><span class="s2">Yes, claws. </span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The men started to shoot, but Peter’s senses were dialed up past eleven. He was expecting danger, he was prepared, he’s </span> <span class="s2"><em>tired</em>, </span> <span class="s1">he’s </span> <span class="s2"><em>mad</em>, </span> <span class="s1">and he </span> <span class="s2"><em>wants to leave.</em> </span> <span class="s1">Peter doesn’t fight at 100% often, but... the situation seemed to call for it. He needs </span> <span class="s2"><em>out</em>. “Karen, disable until further notice.”</span></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>’Peter, I don’t recommend—‘</em>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p><em>“Disable!” </em>He orders. Peter then <span class="s1">readies himself just in time to focus on each bullet getting fired his way, dodging efficiently using his elevated reflexes and measuring the angle of projectory based on where the gun is aimed and when the triggered is pulled. He’s avoiding hits faster than they can be launched and uses his advantage to take out the agents in the fastest way he can, before they adjust to his fighting style. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s totally forgotten about the Cat Lady at this point, as she hasn’t made a move and his main focus was taking out the remaining agents. He doesn’t care how. And maybe... he should’ve. Because the ones who weren’t unconscious, were dead. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">But it’s not like Peter was checking their pulses. The blood on the floor should’ve been an indication, but that wasn’t </span> <span class="s2"><em>his</em> </span> <span class="s1">fault. If he kicked a filthy, defiling hydra guard in self-defense and they stumbled onto a sharp object— well, they should’ve kept their balance better. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">As Peter fought the last one in desperation, the Wolverine Girl catapulted herself towards him (no pun intended). And </span> <span class="s2"><em>holy fucking shit. </em></span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gets a hit in right away, slashing Peter across the chest. He burns from the inside-out as blood is instantly drawn and drips down his sides along as down her fingernails. But she’s already reaching for the next attack, so Peter bites down on his lip, hard, to try and ignore the pain. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leaps forward but she flips over him while digging her claws into his shoulders for a grip, throwing him down to the floor. But before he can hit the ground, Peter wraps his legs around her waist and switches their positions. She slams onto the ground with a cry, Peter straddling her and pinning her down by her wrists. His strength seems to far outweigh hers, and he takes his chance to double-web her wrists and ankles to the floor. But right before he gets up, Peter gets a good look at her face. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em><span class="s2">She’s... probably </span> <span class="s1">my</span> <span class="s2"> age. </span></em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The Cat Girl didn’t look like the rest of the people here to him. Her eyes, were actually </span> <span class="s2"><em>glossy</em>. </span> <span class="s1">Like she was tearing up. And it was then that Peter noticed the collar around her neck, just like the one they’d put on <em>him</em>. The girl hissed, </span> <span class="s2"><em>hissed</em>, </span> <span class="s1">when she caught him looking, but Peter looked down at her and tilted his head. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Is she being controlled? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hurriedly, Peter grips the collar and snaps it in half. She looked terrified when he reached down, but now that it’s off, the girl is coughing and gagging violently, trying to grip her throat, even though her hands are glued to the floor. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter bites his lip one more time as he stands up and looks at the clock on the wall. Is hasn’t been long since he escaped his cell, but he’s sure the whole base knows of his escape and is getting ready to send him a second wave. He doesn’t have much time. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Looking back at her, he asks, “Do you want to come with me?” The girl stopped coughing and looks at him, but doesn’t answer. Getting impatient, Peter asked again, more urgently, “Listen. </span><span class="s2"><em>Do you</em>, <em>want</em>, </span><span class="s1">to</span> <span class="s1">come with me?” No answer. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter runs his hands through his hair and pulls, completely neglecting the fact that he’s covered in blood. “Hey! Do you wanna get out of here? Seriously! There’s not a lot of time!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The girl seems to come back to her senses and shakes her head, “N-No, I-“ she starts in a small, raspy, voice, “I can’t. I’ll- I’ll stay. But... go.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You just want me to </span> <em><span class="s2">leave </span></em> <span class="s1">you?” The disbelief was evident in Peter’s voice, but it doesn’t seem like she’s going to change her mind. As she’s now crying and screaming at him to ‘</span><em><span class="s2">Go!’ </span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Peter, regrettably, runs. He looks back at her once as she’s still shaking her head and sobbing. He stops, but starts up again, shouting, “I- I’ll be back! Okay? I’ll come get you!” And runs through the halls, winding in and out of each path, thrashing until he bursts through the entrance doors. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he doesn’t stop running. Not until his muscles start aching unbearably, and the slashes in his chest become too painful to ignore, and the adrenaline wears off completely, leaving him with his entirely drained mind and blood-stained palms. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ugh I’m sorry hopefully this is okay there was a LOT going on ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p><p>Ok I just proofread it and I think it’s safe to say I hate this chapter I am trah-ruley sorry</p><p>Just comment if you’re confused about anything!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Watch Where You’re Going You Little Shit!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 2531<br/>didn’t proofread oops</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">In, out.<br/>
</span></em> <em> <span class="s1">In, and out.</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter tried focusing his breathing from where he lay in the grass. He wasn’t sure how long he ran, or how far he went. He was completely numb, mentally, this time, as he looked up at the stars through his mask. He could only hear the sound of his heartbeat and heavy breathing, blocking out the swishes of cars driving past and the people’s voices from down the road. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He must’ve slept longer than he thought at that place, because it was late at night. Which means, he’s was gone for a full day. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">But Peter couldn’t be bothered to worry about school or anything else. Instead, he tried wiping his bloody hands into the grass— not sure which of it was his and which of it was someone else’s. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>I... killed someone. Didn’t I?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Shaking his head, Peter takes in a couple more deep breaths.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>In, out. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He thinks back to that girl he left behind. The broken burnett. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">How could people be so cruel? As to torture someone like that? Run tests on human beings? Collect them like hot wheels cars and custom make them into whatever they want? It made him mad. Everything about that place still makes him angry. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter sometimes wished he could see as black and white as most of these criminals. And yet, the truth is, he didn’t hate the world. Yes, he had lost his parents and the people he cared about most while they were all trying to do the right thing. They had good hearts. That didn’t deserve an end like that. And yes, he’d trade places with any and all of them in a heartbeat. And he hates that they had to suffer. But, Peter </span> <span class="s1"> <em>doesn’t</em> </span> <span class="s2"> hate the world. It’s diseased and sick and the people roaming it are just as ill, but not all of them. That one man on the street corner who gives away comics for free, the girl that volunteers at the soup kitchen, the old couple down the block who would bring pies to the parker’s every holiday— it was the people like that who gave peter hope. Spider-Man was meant to protect people like that. He couldn’t help but feel like liar, now. Here he was, seventeen and taking lives in an instant because of his own desperation to save himself. They were terrible, </span> <span class="s1"><em>horrible</em> </span> <span class="s2">people. But he didn’t even stop to think about what he as doing until this moment. And still... even still... </span> <em> <span class="s1">I don’t regret it. </span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>What would they say? If they were here to see me now? Would they be disappointed?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter lifts his mask over his nose and inhales sharply. He should probably call someone. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">"So, hypothetically, if I were to, say, try to bring down a huge drug cartel on my own without telling anyone where I was going or what I was doing, and consequently was lying in a ditch somewhere on Staton Island— what would you do?"</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">There was silence from the other line until Matt Murdock’s voice bit though, “You, are gonna have to be more precise on that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“... By precise do you mean location? Because I could also be in Brooklyn. I’m not entirely sure.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Peter, what the f—“ He sighed into the speaker and concludes, “Damnit, just send me the directions to where you are and I’ll be there soon.” Matt lifts the phone off his ear and hangs up after releasing a string of curses. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And so, Peter waits. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">It wasn’t long until Matt and Wade pulled up in a car, Wade driving, of course. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Wade tiled his head towards Matt. “Oh wow. He really </span> <em> <span class="s1">is</span> </em> <span class="s2"> in a ditch.” </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Matt just rolled his eyes and told Peter to get in. It wasn’t until he stood up that they both realized how messed up he was. From their angle, Peter’s suit was covered in dirt and dried blood— the stains slightly darker than the color of the fabric. His face was more purple than tan, his knuckles were split and scabbed, the suit was nicked in random places, and the three gashes on his torso stood out front and center.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Holy </span> <span class="s1"><em>fuck</em>,</span> <span class="s2"> Pete. You smell like a slaughter house.” Matt ran his hands through his hair and leaned forward. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“He </span> <span class="s1"><em>looks</em> </span> <span class="s2">like an escaped pig from one,” Wade snorts, “Okay, get your bloody ass in the car and explain where you really were, fucknut.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter shrugs and bends down to pick his mask up off the ground, as he’d taken it off to breathe better only ten minutes prior. As soon as he got in the back seat, his two best vigilante-friends asked for the full story. So, Peter told them everything that happen in chronological order. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“—Then he, well, he shot that drug dealer guy. I think his name was Joaquín—“ Wade was starting to drive slower and slower, and by the time Peter got to the part where he was knocked out and number, he slammed on the breaks and stopped the car all together. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Calmly, Wade got out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. Before Peter could ask what he was doing, he turned and walked towards the truck. Then, he appeared again holding his katanas, Bea and Arthur. “Hey, Petey. You said ‘a yaht’? At the docks by the bay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I- Well, that’s what I said. But, Wade, seriously? You’re... not planning on going over there? Are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Wade rested his left arm on the side of the car then leaned forward to ruffle Peter’s hair. “Well, Petey! </span> <span class="s1"> <em>Ew, you need a bath. </em> </span> <span class="s2">Someone’s~ gotta track ‘em down.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“We can. But It doesn’t have to be right </span> <em> <span class="s1">now...</span></em><span class="s2"> Besides, I still haven’t finished telling you the story—“</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Doesn’t matter.” Wade tapped the top of the car, “One of you can take her home! I’ll catch another ride! And Peter,” he starts at the look on the kid’s face, “I </span> <em> <span class="s1">promise </span> </em> <span class="s2">not to cut off anyone’s fingers.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I really don’t— well, I don’t know. You, can do what you want... I guess... but, wouldn’t be better if— you know, if we just went back tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“No.” Wade was tapping something on his phone, “They need to pay </span> <span class="s1"><em>today</em>. <em>Nobody</em> </span> <span class="s2">fucks up my little teenager!”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Wade, neither of us can even </span> <span class="s1"><em>drive</em>. </span> <span class="s2">Peter’s hurt like Hell and I’m fucking </span> <span class="s1"><em>blind</em>.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Wade rubs his fingers on his chin and taps his foot as if in thought. But Wade is Wade, and the both of them shouldn’t have been surprised when he shrugs instead of coming up with an actual solution before running down the street at top speed. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“He- he </span> <span class="s1"><em>left</em>.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“We </span> <span class="s1"><em>probably</em> </span> <span class="s2">should’ve done more to stop him than kinda just sit here.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I mean, yeah. Probably.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">“So...”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Not it!” Peter puts his finger on his nose, making the great effort despite the aching and the fact that Matt couldn’t see him anyways.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">The older scrunches up his face and turns around to scowl at Peter, “You want </span> <span class="s1"><em>me</em> </span> <span class="s2">to drive?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“As you can see— oops.” Peter stifles a laugh before restarting, “I </span> <span class="s1"> <em>do</em> </span> <span class="s2"> be hurtin’. I’m tired. And I’d much rather a blind man drive me than do it myself right now.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“It’s illegal.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Being a vigilante is illegal, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Matt huffs and turns back to face the front, arms crossed and pouting. After a few seconds, he takes a deep breath and opens his car door, muttering, “your funeral,” as he walks around the vehicle and sits in the drivers seat.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“— MATT! </span> <span class="s1"><em>Seriously?</em> </span> <span class="s2">Can’t you </span> <span class="s1"><em>hear</em> </span> <span class="s2">her damn heartbeat or something!?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The car swerves around an old lady in Midtown, causing Peter to slide across the back seat.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Well, can’t </span> <em> <span class="s1">you </span> </em> <span class="s2">just put on your fucking seatbel— WATCH WHERE YOU’RE GOING YOU LITTLE SHIT!”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Dude! That was a </span> <em> <span class="s1">five </span> </em> <span class="s2">year old!”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Well how the hell am I supposed to know her </span> <em> <span class="s1">exact</span> </em> <span class="s2"> age? We’re going too fast for me to listen to every single little thing.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Then </span> <span class="s1">slow </span> <span class="s2">the </span> <span class="s1"><em>fuck</em> </span> <span class="s2">down!”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Matt slams on the wheel and turns to face the backseat, causing the car to swerve widely again and almost slam into a pole, “It’s </span> <em> <span class="s1">your </span> </em> <span class="s2">motherfuckin’ fault </span> <em> <span class="s1">I’m </span> </em> <span class="s2">driving in the first place dickhead!”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“D-did you just call me a dickhead?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“</span> <span class="s1"><em>Yeah</em>, </span> <span class="s2">now close your </span> <em> <span class="s1">whore</span> </em> <span class="s2"> mouth and let a blind man drive!”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Matt turned back around and clutched the wheel, spinning it to the left to make a sharp turn onto Peter’s street. Then, pulling up to the reserved parking spot, he slammed on the breaks and came to a harsh stop; causing Peter to be lurched forward and nearly bang his head on the passenger seat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Matt took a deep breath and turned back to Peter, who was clutching his chest and scowling at Matt— despite the fact that he couldn’t see it. “I believe this is your stop.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“... How can you know </span> <span class="s1"><em>that</em>, </span> <span class="s2">and not when you’re about to hit someone?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Unimportant. And there’s clothes in that bag on the floor,” He turns the car off and steps out, only turning back to salute, “Bye!” before walking off towards Hell’s Kitchen.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">Clothes? </span> </em> <span class="s2">Peter looks to his feet where there was a blue grocery bag that he didn’t see before. Inside we’re sweatpants and a polo shirt, both Matt’s. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">
  <strong> <span class="s3">Tony Stank</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">Hey kid, I thought you were coming today?<br/>
<em><span class="s1">Tue, 9:48pm</span></em></p><p class="p2">
  <strong> <span class="s3"><br/>
Tony Stank</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Get back to me when you can.<br/>
</span> <em> <span class="s1">Yesterday, 2:20pm<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</span> </em> <strong> <span class="s1">Tony Stank</span> </strong></p><p class="p1">You know, I can’t say I’ve ever been ghosted by a teenager before. Or anyone, for that matter. <br/>
<em>10:11pm<br/>
</em></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">MJ</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">Washington Park? <a href="https://bushwickdaily.com/bushwick/categories/news/6557-updated-nyc-protest-schedule-for-today-tuesday-june-16-2020">https://bushwickdaily.com/bushwick/categories/news/6557-updated-nyc-protest-schedule-for-today-tuesday-june-16-2020</a><br/>
<em><span class="s1">Yesterday, 4:23pm</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3"><br/>
MJ</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">Wya<br/>
<em><span class="s1">10:01am</span></em></p><p class="p2">
  <strong> <span class="s3"><br/>
MJ</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">?????<br/>
<em><span class="s1">4:14pm</span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">Guy in the Chair</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">So what if I got bit by a radioactive armadillo? Would I be able to roll into a ball?<br/>
<em><span class="s1">Yesterday, 11:54pm</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3"><br/>
Guy in the Chair</span></strong>
</p><p class="p1">That’d be pretty dope<br/>
<em><span class="s1">Yesterday, 11:56pm</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3"><br/>
Guy in the Chair</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">Are you coming?<br/>
<em><span class="s1">8:39am<br/>
<br/>
</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">Guy in the Chair</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">Where are you? Are you okay?<br/>
<em><span class="s1">3:46pm<br/>
<br/>
</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">Guy in the Chair</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">Seriously Peter I’m getting really worried<br/>
<em><span class="s1">8:37pm</span></em></p><p class="p2"><br/>
<strong> <span class="s3"><br/>
Adam</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">R&amp;D finished the aptasenor project. I’ll send you the blueprints<br/>
</span> <em>12:03am</em></p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Message after message appeared on Peter’s phone when he picked it up from where he left it on his nightstand the day before. He’d called Matt through Karen, and texts from his friends aren’t wired in yet considering they didn’t know about Spider-Man until recently. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Now, with the blue light from the screen illuminating his face through the dark of his room, Peter felt terrible. He also felt crusty, as he still hasn’t cleaned himself up. So, putting it off until later, Peter put his phone back face-up and made his way to the bathroom. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘Good morning, Peter. It’s currently 7:35am and 62 degrees outside. You have—‘</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I’m not going.” Peter cuts Karen off and pulls his pillow over his ears. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘You missed yesterday.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“And?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘It’s your senior year. With all due respect, can you afford to miss any more days?’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter lets go of the pillow and glares at the ceiling. </span> <span class="s1"><em>She must still be mad that I muted her yesterday. </em></span> <span class="s2">“With all due respect, </span> <span class="s1"><em>Karen</em>, </span> <span class="s2">I don’t care.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘... Get your ass up and out of bed, Peter.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“I—” </span> <span class="s1"><em>Cannot believe I programmed her to say that.</em> </span> <span class="s2">“Okay.</span><span class="s1">..</span> <span class="s2">” Peter rolls off his bed and falls to the floor, taking his blanket with him in a reluctance to leave the warmth. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">But when he hit the floor, he had to bite his tongue in an attempt to not cry out from the pain. Weirdly, some of the cuts and bruises weren’t all the way healed, and his chest </span> <em><span class="s1">definitely </span></em> <span class="s2">wasn’t. He had cleaned and stitched his wounds last night before sending a couple of texts, then promptly falling asleep. And as he made it back to the bathroom, his mirror showed that it’d clearly opened back up in his sleep. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Damn. I didn’t pull them tight enough.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The shirt Matt had given him now dawned three red stripes across the front from where he’d bled through, and his face was still a little discolored on the right side— of course, that’s nothing a little foundation can’t fix. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter swiftly fixed the stitches and changed his shirt. “Karen, how much time left?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">‘<em>Fifteen minutes until you have to leave.’</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Looking down at his sweatpants, Peter shrugs and walks to the kitchen, opening the cabinet that held is lucky charms and slowly getting the milk out of the fridge. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘Peter, faster.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Okay, </span> <span class="s1">Mom,” </span> <span class="s2">He snorts, but complies all the same.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">By the time he’s finished eating, he addresses Karen one more time, “I’m going to go in late. I didn’t heal as fast because I didn’t eat, so I’m gonna let it set in and then go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘I can’t stop you from doing so.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Right you are.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter changes into a <a href="https://www.pinterest.at/pin/390405861446266994/">smarter look</a> (</span> <span class="s2">dark colors incase he bleeds again), puts on his bookbag, and grabs some sunglasses before locking the door and making his way to the elevator. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">But instead of heading to school, he goes in the opposite direction and starts his walk to Sister Margaret’s. He figures it’s been a while, and maybe a stiff drink will help with the ache. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Peter! How you been, buddy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Hey, what’s good, Bob?” He pulls Bob, a buff white man with lots of hair and tattoos in for a half-hug. Bob’s a pretty cool guy. “How’s the kids?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Ahh, you know. My excuse of a son got himself suspended from school again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Fighting?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“</span> <span class="s1">Vaping.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Hah!” Peter lets out a breathy scoff before calling Kelly over while a smile, “You know you love him,” he continues, “vaping is so mundane. I almost got suspended last year for breaking out of DODC when i should’ve been on a decathlon trip in DC.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Bon scrunched up his face, “DODC?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t ask.” Peter laughs and picks up the double whiskey neat from the tray Kelly had brought over seconds ago.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Scrubbing his beard, Bob also takes his shot and throws it back before asking, “Why aren’t you in school, anyway? You’re still a senior aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Going in late. Boring, got better things to do.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Stay in a school, kid, stay in school.” Bob pats Peter’s back, “I gotta go. See you later, alright? Don’t drink too much.” He gives him a meaningful look before taking his leave. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">Avengers Tower</span></strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s3">8:42am, Friday, September 9th</span></strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“Nat!”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"><em>“Did you get the location?”</em> </span> <span class="s2">Natasha shouts from the kitchen as she jogged to crouch next to the monitor Clint had been watching for hours.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">He was scrolling quickly and skimming an encrypted email sent by Director Fury that </span> <em><span class="s1">should </span></em> <span class="s2">contain the details of where Hydra was currently based.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Clint? Did they find the location?" Natasha repeated slowly, moving her untouched sandwich aside; she suddenly wasn't hungry. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">He sighed an opened a file that held details on exactly where the building was supposedly at. “It’s been right under our noses this whole damn time,” he ruffles his hair then continues, “apparently, it was hard to find because the warehouse legally doesn’t exist, and was </span> <em><span class="s1">thought</span></em> <span class="s2"> to be empty until a surge of activity was detected from the past couple of days.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Natasha mouths the word </span><em> <span class="s1">‘activity’ </span></em> <span class="s2">before moving on, “...Well, where is it?”</span></p><p class="p2">“Jersey. Short Hills.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I lost someone close to me on June, 26th to an ATV crash. He was 17 and my best friend’s boyfriend. I’m sorry this chapter is short; I’m having a little bit of a writers block. I wanted to make this one kinda funny, que: all the sass. I’m not going to hold the story, I think it’s a good way to vent, but just a heads up in case the writing lacks a little bit in the future. Please stay safe guys, and do what you can for your friends while you have them :( still can’t believe it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. You Smell Like Whiskey</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 4374<br/>Fun fact: I’m actually IN jersey rn lol like, just an hour away from Short Hills from where I am in Atlantic City</p><p>I am SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!! PLZ DON’T HATE ME!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bar was starting to empty as everyone who had been there went home to get some sleep after pulling an all-nighter. Not many people get drunk first thing in the morning, but hey, Peter had a bad fuckin’ night. He was polishing off his fourth drink when Kelly called her break and took the seat opposite from him, setting the tray down with a glass of water and some crackers on it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know, I haven’t seen you here this early in a pretty long while,” she started while pushing the crackers towards him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter scoffed, but took some anyway. “I haven’t had this bad of a week in a pretty long while.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kelly leaned her head into her hand to show she wasn’t leaving anytime soon, “Care to explain?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“... Not really.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“C’mon, Peter. I just I wanna make sure you’re doin’ good.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He sighed deeply and leaned his head back with his eyes closed. “I know. And thank you. I’m perfectly okay— not having any </span> <span class="s2"><em>problems</em>,” </span> <span class="s1">Peter looks at her pointedly, “if that’s what you mean.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Kelly bit the inside of her cheek, making a show of scanning his bruised-up face before changing the topic by gesturing at Peter’s school bag, “You plan on goin’ drunk?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter rolls his eyes and pulls his wallet out, placing $18 on the table and $10 into Kelly’s hand. “Keep the change,” he winked and swung his bag over his shoulder, only stumbling a little, and promptly pushed past the exit door.<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The walk from Hell’s Kitchen to Midtown was about twenty minutes, leaving Peter to actually arrive at school a little over an hour late (after stopping at Delmar’s to grab a snack). He honestly thought he’d spend longer at the bar, but Kelly’s questioning was starting to make him uneasy. She meant well. Either way, he was now stepping through the gates of his high school only </span> <em> <span class="s2">slightly </span> </em> <span class="s1">tipsy and ready to take the tardy after buzzing in and making his way to class. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nice of you to finally join us, Peter.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is it?” Peter mumbles under his breath as he takes his seat in the middle row of Mr. Ceaser’s class, taking out his Senior Calculus textbook. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Choosing to ignore what he clearly overheard, the teacher continues, “Do you have a pass?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mr. Ceaser takes a deep inhale before scanning the rest of the classroom, giving Peter a look, “Pay attention, then,” and turning back to the smart board. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And Peter would feel bad, considering he was kind of rude, but honestly? He knows this stuff. And his <em>teachers </em>know</span> <span class="s1"> that. It’s been three weeks, and they’ve all given up when it comes to trying to get him to listen during class. He sleeps through most of the lesson, but aces the homework. His 5th period Engineering teacher even made him stay in class during lunch to take a test to make sure he wasn’t cheating. He aced it, of course. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So, when Peter pulls out his phone to answer some texts, all he gets is a side glance from Mr. Ceaser.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s1">Tony Stank</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">You know, I can’t say I’ve ever been ghosted by a teenager before. Or anyone, for that matter. <br/>
<em>Yesterday,10:11pm<br/>
</em></p><p class="p1">
  <strong>Peter</strong>
</p><p class="p1">i am SO sorry! I wasn’t ghosting you, was j rlly busy. I can come today?<br/>
<em>9:22am</em></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><strong>Webheads<br/>
</strong> <em>MJ, Guy In The Chair</em></p><p class="p1">
  <strong>Peter</strong>
</p><p class="p1">hwy guys</p><p class="p1">hey* </p><p class="p1">sry for not answering  </p><p class="p1"> ill explain later <br/>
<em><span class="s1">9:24am</span></em></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Adam</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">R&amp;D finished the aptasenor project. I’ll send you the blueprints<br/>
</span> <em>12:03am</em></p><p class="p1">
  <b>Peter</b>
</p><p class="p1">thx. I’ll be in tmrw, hold the fort until then?<br/>
<em>9:26am</em></p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was about to put his phone is his pocket, but it buzzed just as he locked it.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Adam</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Would I be your right-hand man if I didn’t? ;)<br/>
<em>9:27am</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/>
Peter almost sniggers out loud, but only covers his mouth to hide his smile when answering:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>Peter</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">ur not getting a raise mr. ‘right-hand’<br/>
9:27am</p><p class="p1">
  <b>Adam</b>
</p><p class="p1">and you’re not getting any better at grammar by texting in class<br/>
<em>9:28am</em></p><p class="p1"><b>Peter</b><br/>
<br/>
get back to work dickhead<br/>
<em>9:28am</em></p><p class="p1">
  <b>Adam</b>
</p><p class="p1">Touché<br/>
<em>read 9:28am</em></p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span> <em> <span class="s2">Peter</span> </em> <span class="s1">, would you mind?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter looks up from his phone to check the board. A couple students were staring at him, which is probably why Mr. Ceaser bothered to call him out in the first place. “Sorry, Mr. C,” he answers while slipping his phone into his bookbag. “Answer’s 2, plus or minus 12i.” </span> <em> <span class="s2">Isn’t that Algebra 2? Why the heck are we reviewing that?</span> </em> <span class="s1"> Peter takes another look around the room and sees half the class erasing their work.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The teacher rolls his eyes but writes the answer underneath the equation. “Yes, that’s correct.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter grins. </span> <em> <span class="s2">God bless him. He’s so patient. </span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“<em>Dude</em>. </span> <span class="s1">You smell like whiskey,” is the first thing Ned says when he sets his tray down on their lunch table.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">MJ follows closely after, squinting her eyes and tilting her chin up, “Where the hell have you been?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">“You guys,” Peter takes a deep breathe and stares at them intently for dramatic affect, “don’t even </span> <span class="s2"><em>know</em>.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Duh. That’s why I’m asking.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">Rolling his eyes, Peter continues, “Whatever. Okay.” He leans in and motions his hand in a way to tell them to do the same. Once they do, he begins in a quiet voice, “You know that new drug? Dice?”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">MJ and Ned look at each other, but before the shorter can open his mouth to ask, Peter cuts him off. “It’s not good. Super fatal,” he nods, “So I met up with Max, and his friend, Dylan, told me that </span> <em> <span class="s2">his</span> </em> <span class="s1"> friend knew where a deal was happening Tuesday night—“</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, who’s Max?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter dismissed his question with a wave of his hand, “A guy I met over the summer in Hell’s Kitchen. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Anyways</em>, </span> <span class="s1">I went to watch the deal and it was </span> <em> <span class="s2">super </span> </em> <span class="s1">crazy. There was Joaquín and the girl, but the girl ran away when I stepped in, and then some guys in a van pulled up and they had code names and everything. Then Joaquín shot them all— it was really terrible by the way, like they’re bad guys but... whatever, okay, </span> <span class="s2"><em>So</em>, </span> <span class="s1">I followed Joaquín. Right?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not sure i followed that. Who’s Joaquín? The dealer?” Peter nods. “Followed him where?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter was about to start again, but Ned dropped his head onto the table.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I’m so confused already. The dealer </span> <em> <span class="s2">shot</span> </em> <span class="s1"> everyone? Why would he do that? And, </span> <span class="s2"><em>Peter</em>, </span> <span class="s1">my </span> <span class="s2"><em>Gods</em>. </span> <span class="s1">You just <em>witnessed</em> a </span> <em> <span class="s2">genocide?”</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span> <em> <span class="s2">What? </span> </em> <span class="s1">No. Well, I mean, kinda. It was only four guys, but it wasn’t a racial hit or anything.They kept talking about, ‘boss this,’ and, ‘boss that.’ He was scared of getting in trouble with who they’re working for because I busted the drug deal.. and I- I </span> <em> <span class="s2">tried </span> </em> <span class="s1">to save them. It was... I don’t know.” Peter stopped the rambling of his story and thought back to the scene he saw that night. It really </span> <em> <span class="s2">was </span> </em> <span class="s1">terrible.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He had so much adrenaline running through his veins the whole night that he barely stopped to think about all the lives he saw being taken. Those guys, the dealer, the men at the ‘warehouse...’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span> <em> <span class="s2">Peter!”</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">MJ grabbed his hand and leaned her face into his line of sight. He hadn’t even realized he started to space out, let alone the slight tremble in his hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you okay? You don’t have to tell us, you know.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">“Yeah, Man,” Ned joins, “that sounds... pretty heavy. But, there was nothing you could do, right?”</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">“I-“ </span> <em> <span class="s2">Gwen, Ben, May, those guys... Norman— </span> </em> <span class="s1">Peter rubs his free-hand down his face and sighs. “No. There wasn’t.” He sounds defeated in his answer, and he knows it, but he kept his face cold and expressionless. Blinking harshly, he begins again.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, I followed the dealer.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">MJ and Ned shared another glance at the obvious topic change, worry etched into their eyebrows. But with a scan of Peter’s face, they resolutely nodded in a sign for him to continue.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I had Karen help me keep track until we reached a </span> <span class="s2"><em>yacht!</em> </span> <span class="s1">Well, a small one... and it was kinda dinghy... but, yeah. Their ‘hideout,’” Peter does air-quotation marks, “was on a </span> <span class="s2"><em>boat!</em> </span> <span class="s1">So I climbed on, and eventually I reached this room where the boss was jay-chillin’ with his feet up on his desk. He was super weird too. Kinda like that Joker guy from the DC comics—“</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Love that guy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter pauses to give MJ a weird look, Ned doing the same. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">She shrugs, “Society turned him into what he is. It’s all psychology. Nobody’s </span> <em> <span class="s2">born </span> </em> <span class="s1">evil. There’s </span> <em> <span class="s2">always </span> </em> <span class="s1">an exterior reason for the why people are the way they are.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That doesn’t mean all the things he did was okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">MJ rolls her eyes, “That’s not to what I’m </span> <span class="s2"><em>saying</em>. </span> <span class="s1">I’m </span> <em> <span class="s2">saying </span> </em> <span class="s1">that—“</span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">“Whatever guys. He’s not real. Boss guy is! So, who’s boss guy? What’s he look like? What’s he the boss </span> <em> <span class="s2">of? </span> </em> <span class="s1">What’s—“</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, okay, okay.” Peter waves both hands in the air while he refocuses. “So, he’s young, actually. White. Rich. And at the time, I thought he was just some drug lord.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He’s not?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“No! I’m </span> <span class="s2"><em>getting</em> </span> <span class="s1">to that!”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Hurry up, loser! There’s only like ten more minutes of lunch and I haven’t read chapter fifteen of </span> <span class="s2"><em>White Fragility</em> </span> <span class="s1">yet!”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Fine! Okay—“ Peter stutters to give MJ a questioning glance before chuckling a little under his breath, nodding appreciatively at the fact he did indeed hear the title of that book correctly. “Okay, so, long story short— Joaquín said some things, the boss said some things, there was some lobster, there was a </span> <span class="s2">lot </span> <span class="s1">of bipolar tendencies coming from the boss, Joaquín got shot, i got tranqued, and the next thing I knew, I was in New Jersey.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter takes a moment to catch his breath and collect some thoughts for the next part of the story. In that time, MJ and Ned started rapid-firing questions.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Tranqued!?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“New </span> <em> <span class="s2">Jersey?”</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“</span> <span class="s1">... Lobster...?”</span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">“Wait, wait, wait, the <em>dealer</em> got </span> <span class="s2">shot? </span> <span class="s1">By his own </span> <em> <span class="s2">boss?”</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about your uh... what was it? Peter Tingle? What about that? Why didn’t you just dodge it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Mortified at that last question, Peter slams his head onto the table just like Ned did before. “</span> <span class="s2"><em>MJ</em>, </span> <span class="s1">for the love of <em>God</em></span> <span class="s2">, </span> <span class="s1">it is</span> <em> <span class="s2"> not </span> </em> <span class="s1">called my </span> <span class="s2">‘<em>Peter Tingle.’”</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah? Then what’s it called?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s- well it’s—“ Peter gestures to Ned to help him out, suddenly feeling like ‘Spidey Sense’ is just as stupid, but his friend only laughs and pats his back.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Banging his head once more on the table, Peter sits back up and quickly answers their questions. “Yes, New Jersey. You’ll see why in a second. And </span> <span class="s2"><em>yes</em>, </span> <span class="s1">lobster! Duh! That’s what I said! As for why I didn’t dodge, I </span> <span class="s2"><em>couldn’t</em>. </span> <span class="s1">Like, there were </span> <em> <span class="s2">so </span> </em> <span class="s1">many darts and they pose less of a threat than say, bullets. So, dodging them is harder when there’s tens of them coming at me and my </span> <span class="s2"><em>sixth sense,</em>” </span> <span class="s1">he shoots a look at MJ, </span> <span class="s2">“</span> <span class="s1">isn’t warning me accurately.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ned raises his hand as if asking permission to speak, and Peter laughs while smacking it back down to the table, “So, if I were to try to pants you, would your Peter Tingle warn you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter tilts his head to the right and pokes his tongue into his cheek, pointedly ignoring Ned’s direct use of ‘Peter Tingle.’ “</span> <span class="s2"><em>Yes</em>, </span> <span class="s1">Ned. It </span> <span class="s2"><em>would</em>. </span> <span class="s1">And if you </span> <span class="s2"><em>try</em>, </span> <span class="s1">I can do it to </span> <em> <span class="s2">you</span> </em> <span class="s1"> before you even get behind me.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span> <em> <span class="s2">Show-off,” </span> </em> <span class="s1">MJ coughs.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter rolls his eyes again. “Okay! Quiet! I’m almost done!” With the new found silence, he continues, “When I reached New Jersey, I was put in this warehouse-corporate-building-type-place. They cuffed me to a chair with vibranium and put this rope—“ Peter pauses and looks at his two friends. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Maybe I could spare that detail? </span> </em> <span class="s1"><em>Clearing his throat, he tries starts again.</em> “Anyway...”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? No! What were you gonna say?” MJ smacks his wrist.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, you like, definitely skipped over something.” Ned looked to MJ to confirm and turns back to Peter with finality.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sighing, “it’s not important,” Peter runs his fingers through his hair. “We don’t have a lot of time! C’mon, c’mon, shut up!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They glare but stay quiet.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span> <span class="s2"><em>So</em>, </span> <span class="s1">I fell asleep or was knocked out or whatever after a while, and apparently I slept like the </span> <em> <span class="s2">whole </span> </em> <span class="s1">day even though I thought it was, like, an hour. And </span> <span class="s2"><em>then</em>, </span> <span class="s1">I broke my thumbs to get out of the cuffs and tried to crack the password on the door. When I did, I noticed I was in a </span> <em> <span class="s2">Hydra sub-base! </span> </em> <span class="s1">At least, I assume it’s a sub-base, because the director wasn’t there—“ Peter puts up a finger to keep his friends from interjecting, which they responded to by reluctantly closing their mouths. “Then I started running through the halls, and I accidentally ran into this room where a ton of agents were because Karen couldn’t find the building’s blueprints. I don’t remember a lot after going in, just... fighting like hell. But there was this girl there, about our age! And I— well, I have to go back for her.” Peter recalled his memory. He </span> <em> <span class="s2">promised </span> </em> <span class="s1">he’d go back. He will.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Peter, what? Go </span> <span class="s2"><em>back?</em> </span> <span class="s1">For a </span> <span class="s2"><em>Hydra</em> </span> <span class="s1">agent? Dude! She’s probably a murderer!”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Suddenly feeling defensive, Peter bit at Ned, “it’s not her</span> <em> <span class="s2"> fault! </span> </em> <span class="s1">Some things are kill or be killed, Ned.” His friends recoiled at that sentiment, but stayed quiet. “Listen,” Peter restarts, “she had a collar around her neck. They put one on me too, but I’m stronger than they thought. So I could pull it off. She </span> <span class="s2"><em>couldn’t</em>. </span> <span class="s1">What would you do? Sit back and die? She didn’t </span> <em> <span class="s2">want</span> </em> <span class="s1"> to work for them! She had to.” Peter nods to signal the end of his rant and leans his head back, feeling a fiery resolve.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a moment, MJ speaks back up, deeming to bring the subject back to the story, “So... how did you get out?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Calming down, Peter finishes the story. “After I fought her, I ran. For a </span> <em> <span class="s2">long </span> </em> <span class="s1">time. I made it all the way back to New York before I called Matt, then he and Wade picked me up. I’m pretty Wade went looking for the yacht. I’m not sure though, I haven’t talked to him yet.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who’s Matt? And uh, Wade?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Oh </span> <em> <span class="s2">shit!” </span> </em> <span class="s1">Peter’s eyes widened as he realized he called them by their real names. Trying to recover, he backtracked, “uhhh, they’re friends. From... the summer.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“What the hell? You told random people you were Spider-Man before telling </span> <em> <span class="s2">us?”</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“<em>What?</em> </span> <span class="s1">No, no, no! Well, actually, uhh... yeah. Yeah, I guess I did... </span> <em> <span class="s2">but! </span> </em> <span class="s1">It’s not the same! It’s, well, they’re different... umm...”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter scanned his friends’ body language, and it hit him right in the stomach when he saw how disappointed they looked. So, before they could say anything, he decided to tell them the truth and hope Team Red doesn’t hate him for it. “Matt and Wade... they’re like me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Ned raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed at Peter’s attempt to fix the situation he dug himself into. “<em>Like </em></span> <span class="s2"><em>you?</em>” </span> <span class="s1">Clearly, what he meant to say was, </span> <span class="s2">‘<em>Are we not good enough for you?’ </em></span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">And it would seem absurd under any other circumstance, a friend being jealous of other friends to one person. But Peter knows it’s different. They don’t feel replaced, they don’t even feel </span> <span class="s2"><em>jealous</em>. </span> <span class="s1">It’s that, in their perception, he chose to tell someone he barely knows, when he had been hiding it from </span> <em> <span class="s2">them</span> </em> <span class="s1"> for </span> <span class="s2"><em>years</em>. </span> <span class="s1">They’re hurt... because they feel like Peter didn’t trust them as much as they trusted him.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In the aspect... that I’m enhanced.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They still look pissed. But really, enhanced is pretty vague nowadays. It’s like 1/10th of every person at this point has some kind of mutation or other. It’s New York, after all.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Squeezing his eyes tight, Peter blurts, “</span> <span class="s2"><em>Deadpool and Daredevil! God!”</em> </span> <span class="s1">in a whisper-yell, which resulted in his friends’ eyes widening in realization.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Ned was the first to speak up, “</span> <span class="s2"><em>Dude!</em> </span> <span class="s1">They really </span> <span class="s2"><em>are</em> </span> <span class="s1">murderers!”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Stop! They’re not! Well, I mean, Wade </span> <span class="s2"><em>is</em>, </span> <span class="s1">but... he’s been cutting back a lot. And he only takes jobs when the target’s a criminal! And everything Matt was accused of isn’t true, that was all Kingpin.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Kingpin?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Nevermind that! They’re </span> <span class="s2"><em>good</em> </span> <span class="s1">people. I’d bet my life on them.”</span></p><p class="p2">Ned catches MJ’s gaze, silently trying to get her to agree with him. But instead, she folds her hands on the table and looks directly at Peter.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I trust your judgement.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter took in a breath to respond, but the sound of the bell drowned out his thoughts. He slumps back in his chair while Ned clenches his teeth and sets a hand on his shoulder, “I do too, man. Just be careful. And, keep us in the loop? You know? That’s all we really ask. You have no idea how scared we were that something was seriously wrong.” MJ throws away her uneaten granola bar and follows after Ned, who was walking backwards towards the trash can. “And to think! We were </span> <span class="s2"><em>right</em>.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter’s dizzy with a headache as Ned’s face scrunches up, shaking his head in worry. He turns to look back one more time after throwing away his garbage, smiling forcedly and leaving the cafeteria. MJ hangs back for a second.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“He’ll be fine. It </span> <span class="s2"><em>is</em> </span> <span class="s1">scary though. Knowing that your best friend is out risking his life.” She shrugs and raises her hand in a half-wave before leaving too.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Peter, he slams his head onto the table once again for good measure. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">During Chemistry, Peter decided he wanted nothing more than to go out and patrol for a while. His feet have been tapping all day in an attempt to burn extra energy, and the snide comments Flash was making all class made him want to punch someone. If he couldn’t hit Flash, he’d happily sock a rapist.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His teacher, Mrs. Sanchez, was droning on and on about supercritical uranium, so he decides to check his phone, making sure to at least keep it under the desk this time. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2"><em>Hmm, Jason is back together with Sally. Good for them.</em> </span> <span class="s1">Peter was scrolling through Twitter when Tony finally texted back from that morning.</span></p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <strong>Peter</strong>
</p><p class="p1">i am SO sorry! I wasn’t ghosting you, was j rlly busy. I can come today?<br/>
<em>Seen 2:18pm</em></p><p class="p1">
  <b>Tony Stank</b>
</p><p class="p1">Avenger’s duty today. Drop by late on Saturday, I wanna run some things by you<br/>
<em>2:18pm</em></p><p class="p1">
  <b>Peter</b>
</p><p class="p1">like what?<b><br/>
</b><em>2:19pm</em></p><p class="p1">
  <b>Tony Stank</b>
</p><p class="p1">You’ll see<b><br/>
</b>2:21pm</p>
<hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter was silently laughing at the engineer’s pause before the ominous last text when Flash kicked the back of his chair. Turning around, he was met with an ugly smirk and a snigger from Tiny, who sits on the left of Flash. But instead of getting into it, he rolls his eyes and faces back to the front, ignoring the continuous kicks to his chair for the remainder of class. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the final bell rang, Peter wasted no time in swinging his backpack over his shoulder and bolting out the door. He made quick work of hopping the gates, sure that no one was around. Then not before long, he was shooting a web to the side of the Empire State Building and swinging through the skies. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stopped a bank robbery, a couple muggings, and a grand theft auto. Then, with about two hours until sunset, Peter sat down on the roof of a shopping center to eat a sandwich he bought from Delmar’s that morning. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Only about five minutes later, Peter starts to hear a light buzzing, which keeps getting louder by the second— like it’s coming closer. Taking a look around, he sets down his sub and stands up, teetering over the edge of the building. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Karen? What’s that sound?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">‘<em>What sound, Peter?’</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, right. Um, that buzzing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it was less of a ‘buzz’ now, and more of a raging whir. There was also a something that sounded strangely like a rhythmic gush of wind. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now on full alert, Peter crouches on the edge, waiting for whatever was coming with a watchful eye. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">However, he felt quite stupid when the familiar hot-rod-red and gold suit clunked onto the roof, followed by a man wearing giant prosthetic wings and a modern day Robin Hood. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And yes, </span> <span class="s2"><em>wearing</em>. </span> <span class="s1">Hawkeye was holding tightly onto Falcon’s legs, right near his back. <em>Probably</em><em> forced into hitching a ride.</em> Although, he tried to play it cool by quickly letting go when he could touch the ground, making a show off dusting off his clothes and straightening his back with a quick clearing of his throat. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Ironman landed in typical super-hero fashion, and somehow that made Peter </span> <em> <span class="s2">less</span> </em> <span class="s1"> intimidated. Because, well, he knows these guys. And they’re all dorks. What he </span> <em> <span class="s2">doesn’t </span> </em> <span class="s1">know, however, is why they’re there. </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Luckily, </span> <span class="s2"><em>Ironman</em> </span> <span class="s1">is there to clear things up (note the sarcasm). Tony steps out of his suit and stands directly in front of Peter, who has long since stood back up and deemed to casually watch the plot unfold. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So,” he starts with a loud clap, “you’re the spider... ling. Crime fighting spider. You’re Spider-Boy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>Sass right off the bat!</em> </span> <span class="s1">Peter shifts his weight from one leg to the other and lifts a palm up in exasperation before correcting the billionaire. “Spider-Man. C’mon! I-it’s... its Spider-Man.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony just lifts a brow, “Not in that onsie you’re not.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tony! Leave the kid alone.” Sam sighs. His hand fidgets like he’s trying is damned hardest not to facepalm, but he extends it out anyways in an introduction, “Sam Wilson. Nice to meet you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter shakes his hand in return, but said nothing. He also sends a salut in Clint’s way, who nods and sends one back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, okay, whatever. Now we all know each other. So listen, uhhh, Spider-Boy, we’re going on a mission tomorrow, but we’re a little understaffed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“<em>Understaffed?”</em> </span> <span class="s1">Peter crosses his arms and scrunches his eyebrows. “How could the Avengers be understaffed? There’s like, eight of you at the tower and </span> <em> <span class="s2">tons </span> </em> <span class="s1">of others around the city.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“</span> <em> <span class="s2">Oh~,” </span> </em> <span class="s1">Clint elbows Sam in the side, “He researched us.” </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“No, </span> <span class="s2"><em>Robin</em>. </span> <span class="s1">I saw you TV.” </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tony snaps his head at Peter and tries not to laugh. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Robin! </span> </em> <span class="s1">Covering it with a cough, he gets to the point. “That’s just it, actually. Most of them are off-world or busy, and not all of the team at the tower can come. Ross needs them elsewhere.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ross?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Accords administrator. Not important. What’s </span> <span class="s2"><em>important</em>, </span> <span class="s1">is that you come with us. Tomorrow.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s happening to tomorrow?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At this, Clint came forward and motioned for Peter to step closer too, as if he were about to tell some big secret. Apparently, he was. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you heard of Hydra before? You must’ve, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">They’re telling me about Hydra? </span> <span class="s2">Me</span> <span class="s2">, of all people? </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter side glances Tony and Sam, who were just standing in place and nodding. Turning back to Clint, he answers, “Yeah, of course I have.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At this, Tony speaks up again, “We located a base not too far from here. You wanna come do your spider thing and beat up some Nazi’s?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">Straight to the point. Okay. </span> </em> <span class="s1">“You want </span> <span class="s2"><em>me</em>, </span> <span class="s1">Queens’ friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, to help </span> <span class="s2"><em>you</em>, </span> <span class="s1">the Avengers, with something as important as taking down a <em>Hydra</em> base?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tony runs a hand down his face and huffs, “You know, I really hate the word </span> <span class="s2">‘<em>help</em>,’ </span> <span class="s1">but yeah whatever, I guess that’s what we’re saying.” </span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter looks back to Sam, who was being oddly quiet. But maybe it wasn’t so odd, because he was standing near the south edge of the building, which was the direct way to Queens. </span> <em> <span class="s2">They think I might </span> </em> <span class="s1">run</span> <span class="s2">?</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter trots right up to Tony, who was watching him expectantly. “Where is it?” He says with finality. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At that, all three Avengers lean in, and Sam finally interjects with an over-the-fence nod, “Short Hills.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Sh— in New Jersey?” </span> <em> <span class="s2">Oh my god? I’ve already </span> </em> <span class="s1">been </span> <em> <span class="s2">there. </span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What other Short Hills is there?” Tony snorts. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter chuckles a little to himself, reveling at the fact he could narrow down where he was while blindfolded. They give him a weird look, so he sighs and explains (somewhat), “That’s just a sub-base, but you can count on me being there,” he saunters over to his back bag, which he grabbed from the alley before sitting down for dinner. Pulling out his burner phone, he tossed it to Tony, who was watching him intently the whole time. “You can contact me through that number. Save it and call me when you’re ready to go— I’ll meet up with you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods but tosses it to Sam, explaining, “I don’t like being handed things,” with a shrug. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sam flips it open and reads the number, pulling out his own phone and presumedly sending the digits to himself. Done typing, he tosses the flip phone back to Peter, who catches it expertly even though it was thrown well over his head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony smirks at the little show of reflexes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” Peter tilts his head and crouches back down to collect his things. With his backpack now on, he steps onto the ledge of the building opposite of Sam with his back facing the city. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The three adults now stood in a near-line, watching Peter confusedly. So, with the attention on him, he leans back and falls with as little as a single salut-goodbye. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“<em>Oh my god!”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter hears a couple exclaims over the wind wishing in his ears as he falls, before quickly shooting a web to a building and beginning to swing back home. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“That dude‘s crazy,” Sam steps back from the ledge he leaned over to watch Spider-Man fall, running his hand through his hair. “I don’t think I </span> <span class="s2"><em>wanna</em> </span> <span class="s1">work with him all the time. Man’s gonna stress </span> <span class="s2">me</span> <span class="s1"> the <em>fuck</em> out.” </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony and Clint subtly nod in agreement. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then with that, Ironman activates his repulsers, Hawkeye hypes himself up before jumping onto Falcon’s back, and the team fly back to the tower (with a slightly gaging Clint Barton) to tell the rest of the Avengers the news. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thoughts? 🥺👉👈</p><p>Also, happy three-month anniversary of this fic :)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. So You’re Psychic?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 6768<br/>So, um... I procrastinated and ended up writing this chapter like 3 weeks late.... but hey! At least it’s long!!</p><p>Not proofread</p><p>Leave a comment 🥺 they’re my fav part</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <strong><span class="s1">Avengers</span><span class="s1"> Tower<br/>
</span>Saturday, September 10th</strong>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“He seems young. Probably in his early to mid twenties.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t trust him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Clint, you barely know him.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“That’s precisely why I don’t trust him.” Clint makes a face that clearly says <em>‘</em><em>d</em></span>
  <em><span class="s3">uh.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">“Ye</span>
  <span class="s2">ah well,” Sam huffs, “he’s all we got.”<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">The currently available Avengers were sitting around the kitchen table Saturday morning, the day they plan to infiltrate the Hydra base. Captain Rodgers is cooking breakfast, Tony’s pouring coffee, Natasha’s typing rapidly on her laptop, and Sam and Clint are explaining their interaction with Spider-Man. Well, </span> <span class="s3"><em>trying</em>.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Clint whines to Sam, “But we don’t </span> <span class="s3">need </span> <span class="s2">him, do we? </span>Steve! Why can’t <em>you</em> just come? I mean, you’re already here!”</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Clint, you know I can’t. Me and Bucky have to be in Wakanda by </span> <span class="s2"><em>tonight</em>. </span> <span class="s1">Direct orders.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! Right, of course. I forgot, it’s always, ‘orders’ this, and, ‘orders’ that, with you.” Clint huffed out a breath and let his head drop to his right hand with a scowl.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Steve chose to ignore the hostility in favor of mixing more pancake batter. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Why are you switching up all of a sudden, anyways?” Tony places Clint’s coffee in front of him, spilling some of the liquid over the sides and onto the table.</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">“You can’t tell me he didn’t seem even a </span> <em><span class="s3">little </span></em> <span class="s2">bit suspicious to you!” When he was met with a couple shrugs, Clint continued, “Did you both just decide to gloss over the fact that he </span> <em><span class="s3">knew </span></em> <span class="s2">about the Hydra base?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What’re you talking about?” Tony scrunches up his eyebrows as he tries to recall the conversation from last night, and Natasha’s fingers slow on the keyboard.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Clint rolls his eyes, “You guys would be awful spies. </span> <span class="s3"><em>Think!</em> </span> <span class="s2">Not only was he surprised to hear it was in Short Hills, he literally said it was a </span> <span class="s3"><em>sub-base!</em> </span> <span class="s2">How could he be so sure unless he knew about it already? And if he did, for how long? And was he just planning to </span> <em><span class="s3">leave it alone?”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Natasha has completely stopped typing and was looking around at the other four in the room. Steve has also stopped cooking, turning the stove off to give the unfolding story his full attention. As for Tony and Sam, they seemed a little stunned that they disregarded the fact in the first place. But, nobody could argue, what Clint was saying definitely had a point.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Okay, so then— what?” Tony finally speaks up.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Clint slid down his chair in frustration, “What do you mean, </span> <span class="s3"><em>‘so what?’</em></span> <span class="s2"> He’s </span> <span class="s3"><em>suspicious!”</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Steve, who had been quiet for a moment until then, speaks up, “I’d like to give the guy the benefit of the doubt. He’s in our line of work after all, maybe he came across it recently but thought it a bad idea to go there alone.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Obviously it’d be a bad idea to go alone!”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“It’s in </span> <span class="s3"><em>New Jersey. </em></span> <span class="s2">I’ve never seen Spider-Man work outside of New York City, have you?” Clint asks Tony in retaliation. “All I’m saying is, it’s weird. We know nothing about this guy! He’s totally unpredictable.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Make up your </span> <span class="s3"><em>mind</em>. </span> <span class="s2">Do you like him or </span> <em><span class="s3">not?”</span></em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Clint slumps back down and looks at Natasha, wondering for her opinion, but she just shrugs and goes back to typing. Huffing, he sits back up and faces his friends, “I know it doesn’t make sense. I was on board for him helping since Wanda can’t come. And I liked him yesterday, he seems like a fun guy. But that doesn’t </span> <em><span class="s3">matter </span></em> <span class="s2">if we can’t trust him.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Why don’t you just ask him?” Steve answers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“And ask him <em>what</em> exactly? ‘Oh, hey, by the way, are you some evil dude that’s somehow affiliated with Hydra?’”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Whoa, wait, you think he’s actually </span> <em><span class="s3">connected?</span></em><span class="s3"> That’s a serious allegation.” </span><span class="s2">Tony pours another cup of coffee and takes the seat across from Clint.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t know! Maybe!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">As it was clear the conversation wasn’t going anywhere, Natasha finally closed her laptop lid and spoke to Clint directly, “I’ll be there, and I’m better at deduction than anybody. If there’s something up, I’ll know.” She raises her eyebrow at the rest of the group, as if daring them to disagree, “Besides, I doubt he’s anything you’re insinuating. Let’s just call him, go over the mission, and get on the jet to Short Hills. Everything will play out from there, and we can see for ourselves what kind of guy he is.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">At being completely shut down by Natasha of all people, Clint scoffs and sips the rest of his coffee before nodding at her and retiring momentarily to the living room. </span> <em> <span class="s2">Seriously! She’s the most paranoid person I </span> </em> <span class="s2">know,</span><em><span class="s2"> next to Fury. How is she so lax?</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A silently uncomfortable silence settled in the air when Clint left, but things quickly went back to normal as Steve placed some plates down and announced his leave.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I gotta get going,” he starts, leaning over Tony to grab his jacket that was hung up on the back of his chair, “But hey, if anything happens, just give me a call and I’ll have the jet turned around right away.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thanks, bud,” Sam pats his back, “But, I think we’ll be good.” He finishes the thought with a pointed look to Clint, who was pouting at the TV in the living room.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1"><strong> <span class="s3">Alexo Industries<br/>
</span> </strong> <strong> <span class="s3">Saturday, September 10th</span> </strong></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Looks good, guys.” Peter puts his hands in his pockets and rocks on his feet, grinning at his brilliant R&amp;D team at Lab 3. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“Thanks, Mr. Parker.” Tom answered, grinning just as hard.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’d been working on the aptasensor technology day and night, and they even cleaned up the lab a little in the time Peter had been away from the company. The five of them were hyped up on numerous cups of coffee and were all crazy tired, if the bags under their eyes were anything to go by— but they seemed satisfied all the same. <em>That’s life as a scientist.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright, I’ll send the schematics to the marketing team and let you know when it’s ready for distribution. For now, why don’t you guys take the rest of the day off?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, no, um, we couldn’t possibly, I mean, there’s still so much work to do on the Metasystem Approach to Regulatory Rule Making on Advanced Medicine—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mary, you’re all exhausted,” Peter smiles and scans the group in front of him one more time. Justin very obviously wanted Mary to shut the hell up, and really everyone but her and Michael seemed to feel the same way. “You’re good. I’m giving you the night off, so take a break! You earned it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">Michael opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by Peter’s ringtone. “One second.” He holds up a finger to the team and turns to check his phone, but scrunches his eyebrows upon realizing it was the wrong one. Smiling sheepishly at the confused crew, he takes out his burner phone from his other pocket and walks to the corner of the room.</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Hello?” Peter says into the phone before pushing it away from his face and mouthing <em>‘go</em></span> <em><span class="s2"> home.’</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">They start packing up and leaving while Peter puts his ear back to the phone, only to hear the shuffling of chairs and a muffled</span> <em> <span class="s2"> ‘Put it on speaker!’</span> </em> <span class="s1"> from Clint. There was also an, </span> <em> <span class="s2">‘Oh? Are you done brooding?’ </span> </em> <span class="s1">from Natasha in the background.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey! Can you hear us?” Sam yelled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh, yeah, yeah I hear you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Alright,” Natasha speaks up, “We’re going in tonight. We’d like you to meet us here at the compound and we’ll strategize then take the jet over before dark.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay, uh, Ms. Romanoff, I assume? Why would we take the jet? It’s only in Short Hills.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony interjects for the first time with one word: “Style,” at the same time as Clint who points out, “It’s easier to pull of a surprise attack and it’s faster,” with a slight ‘mocking’ lilt. </span>
</p><p class="p2">Peter nods to himself for a second before Sam answers as well, “Plus, why drive when we can fly?”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“All reasonable logic,” Peter chuckles, “Okay, um, I should be able to come in about an hour.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">“Why an hour?”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m working.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell your boss it’s an emergency.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter pinches the bridge of his nose in slight exasperation. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Tell my boss?</em> </span> <span class="s1">Of course, he’s been careful about his identity, but how does Tony <em>not</em> recognize his voice over the phone? Although, he’s thankful nonetheless.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sighing, Peter fires back, “I need to wrap things up first. I have a life outside of this, you know. I gotta pay my bills. What’s it matter anyways when we’re leaving </span> <em> <span class="s2">hours</span> </em> <span class="s1"> from now?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was silent for a long second before Clint spoke up, slightly aggravated, “Well, if this is such a drag then maybe you don’t need to come,” there were whispered protests in the background, “Hydra doesn’t wait and we certainly won’t either. They’re a disgusting, vial, organization and if taking that down isn’t on the top your priorities then—“ Clint trialed off, probably due to his glaring teammates.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Chill on him, Clint. He said he’d wrap things up. He’s right, we didn’t really give him much notice.” Sam took the opportunity to ease the tension before it actually arose, raising his voice a little to talk to Peter directly, “What’s your ETA?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">My ‘ETA’? </span> </em> <span class="s1">Peter stifles a laugh, “Um,” looking around the lab and finding it empty, he sighs again, “Well, I probably really </span> <em><span class="s2">could</span></em> <span class="s1"> come sooner. I’m actually not too far from the Tower,so, I guess I’ll see you soon.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So when you said—“</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter cuts Clint off by simply ending the call. He releases a breath and looks at the ceiling, taking a moment to re-catch his bearings before leaving lab 3 and making his way back upstairs. <em>Maybe</em></span> <em> <span class="s2"> I’ll be seeing that girl again sooner than I thought.</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unplugging his suit from the holotable located in his private lab, Peter locked the door, dawned his Spider-Man suit, and precariously swung out the window. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Karen, text Adam for me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘What would you like for me to say?’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nearly crashing into a hot-dog-stand’s canopy, Peter pulls up slightly and skims the top with his foot, releasing another web to swing past Times Square. “Tell him I won’t be in for the rest of today or probably tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘Will do.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><strong> <span class="s3">Avengers Tower<br/>
</span> </strong> <strong> <span class="s3">Saturday, September 10th</span> </strong></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">“</span></em><span class="s2"><em>Clint!</em> </span> <span class="s1">Why were you being such a d-hole? We </span> <em><span class="s2">just </span></em> <span class="s1">went over this!” Tony slid his phone down the table immediately after the call ended to face his friend directly. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, well, he’s not telling us everything,” Clint scratches the back of his ear sheepishly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Natasha turned her chair around to sit on it backwards, situating herself before joining the conversation, “Just talk to him when he gets here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought we agreed I can’t really ask him,” Barton retorts, rolling his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yes,” Nat sets her jaw at the attitude, “But you don’t have to </span> <em> <span class="s2">ask </span> </em> <span class="s1">him anything. Just </span> <em> <span class="s2">talk </span> </em> <span class="s1">to him and you can draw conclusions easily enough.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“... I guess that makes sense. </span> <em> <span class="s2">But,</span></em><span class="s1"> that’s assuming he’s stupid enough to give himself away by <em>accident.”</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you can’t tell if he’s lying or not then you should pride yourself less about being a <em>former</em>-spy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony exhales dramatically while crossing his arms, turning everyone’s attention to him. Looking around in fake surprise, he begins sarcastically, “Oh, are you done?” Being met with no answer, he continues, “Alright! Now that that’s settled, let’s start strategizing and we can catch the spiderling up when he gets here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“How </span> <span class="s2"><em>is</em> </span> <span class="s1">he getting here anyway?” Sam questions.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you mean?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Well, we never really told him </span> <span class="s2"><em>how</em>. </span> <span class="s1">The helipad door isn’t really common knowledge, and I don’t see him walking up through the lobby.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At this realization, most of the group once again turns to Tony expectantly. Only, he just shrugs— tight-lipped and seemingly completely unconcerned. At the lack-luster response, they look to Natasha.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? Because Tony’s unorganized, I suddenly know all the answers?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes.” Clit and Sam speak in unison before glaring playfully at each.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nat repositions herself so that her legs are crossed on the table as she expressionlessly looks at her team. Sighing, she gives in, smirking a little, “I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s that supposed to mean?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She answers Tony by pointing at the window directly behind them, everyone jumping in surprise upon seeing none other than Spider-Man himself swinging to a stop and sticking to the glass. The impact forces him to bounce a little on his fingertips, before he tilts his head to look at them and lifts his hands to wave un-gracefully.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grunting, Tony addresses Friday, “Fri, mind swinging that windowpane around?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘Certainly.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">(“I never thought we’d get to use that feature,” Tony mumbles).</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><br/>
To Peter’s dismay, the glass he‘s currently stuck on suddenly flips until he finds himself inside the Avengers’ common room. Getting over the initial shock, he hops off and stands to greet the group. Kind of.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Whoa-ha-ohhh! That’s awesome! I </span> <span class="s3"><em>definitely</em></span> <span class="s2"> need one of those!”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Alright Spider-Boy, just come sit down.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter glances over the four of their faces. Tony seems disgruntled, but when does he not? Sam’s simply relaxing in his chair, a polar-opposite from Clint who’s sizing Peter up. Then, there’s Natasha. She’s actually </span> <span class="s3"><em>smiling</em>. </span> <span class="s2">In, like, a weird, sinister kinda way. Like she... knows something.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Shaking his head and dismissing the idea, Peter jokingly bows and makes his way to a seat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“So, you said there was some planning to do?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Yes, that’s right. </span> <span class="s3"><em>We’ll</em> </span> <span class="s2">do the planning and you just hang tight and listen.” Clint uncharacteristically snaps.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">A little pissed off, Peter crosses his hands in front of himself and leans forward onto the table, speaking calmly, “I’ll </span> <span class="s3">listen, </span> <span class="s2">but I’m not going to stay quiet if I have a better idea. I know I’m not some big-shot, but that doesn’t give you any right to talk down on me. </span> <span class="s3">I know what I’m doing.</span> <span class="s2"> And you obviously know that too, otherwise I wouldn’t be here. So instead of carrying out whatever personal vendetta you suddenly have against me, I suggest we set our </span> <span class="s3">‘priorities’ </span> <span class="s2">on the best possible action we can take on this.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Clearly taken aback by the confrontation and the indirect use of his definition of ‘priority’ from earlier, Clint has the courtesy to clear his throat and nod sharply, redirecting his eyes to the table and motioning awkwardly for Tony to start.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“So the first course of—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Natasha sniggers quietly, leading Peter to tune Stark out almost immediately as he directs his attention to her. Having noticed he caught her eye, she smiles once again and speaks lowly, “Привет, Питер.” (Hey, Peter).</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Oh my—“ </span> <em><span class="s3">oh, my </span> <span class="s2">god! Did she—? </span><span class="s3">Maybe... Maybe she means... a different Peter? No. no, that’s stupid... I mean, I saw this coming, didn’t I? I did. Yeah, I mean, I knew she knew I had super hearing, and I didn’t have a problem with her knowing that for whatever reason, and I—</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yo! Spidey! Listen up, bug!” Tony’s snapping his fingers in Peter’s direction. It seems he stopped talking and the group turned to look at Peter and Natasha, her chuckling and him looking at her with the whites of his suit’s eyes as wide as saucers. “You kids okay back there?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Natasha schools her features and nods, encouraging Tony to continue, before turning back to Peter with a lifted eyebrow and mouthing, </span> <em><span class="s3">‘Later.’</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">There’s a slight ringing in Peter’s ears but he tries to shake it off and bring his full attention on to whatever Stark’s blabbing about. He sneaks a few more glances at Nat, but she’s not paying him any mind, so Peter finally exhales and focuses intently on the billionaire’s words, pushing everything else to the back of his mind.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“— so we’ll have to break in through the roof and make our way down. It’s not that tall a building, but it’s safe to assume there’s more levels underground.” Tony looks around to make sure everyone got it before assigning positions, “Nat, you’ll take the east window on the second floor. Spider-Man, you’ll take the west one. They’re small, so you’re the only ones who can fit through, plus I’m positive you can both get by undetected— or least, without the alarm going off. I’ll blow a hole in the roof so me, Clint, and Sam can get in, which will hopefully create a diversion and bring the attention to us. If we’re lucky, they’ll think only we showed up, and then the two of you can get down faster. Got it?” Everyone nods in agreement. “Alright, we can figure the rest out on the jet when we have a blueprint of the building mapped out. For now, let’s get to know you,” Tony points directly at Peter, “a little better so we can build some teamwork.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Oh! Uh... okay. What do you wanna know?” Taken aback by the sudden spotlight, Peter scratches the back of his neck and looks down, fidgeting a little in his chair. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Clint speaks up first, of course, “How long have you been doing this?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s3"><em>Huh, that’s actually a reasonable question. </em></span> <span class="s2">“Well, to be specific I’ve never done </span> <span class="s3"><em>this,</em></span> <span class="s2">exactly.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You know what I meant,” Clint rolls his eyes again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah, yeah,” Peter waves his hand dismissively, “I started probably three to four years ago.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Where’re you from?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Um... New York?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Tony snorts into his hand at the vague answer, earning a stink-eye from Clint. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">This time, Sam inquires, “What’re your powers anyways? Do they come from the suit or are you like, enhanced?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter scrunches up his face at the, in his opinion, stupid question. “I’m </span> <span class="s3">enhanced. </span> <span class="s2">The suit just looks cool—“ he was cut off but Tony choking on a laugh in obvious disagreement. “Well, </span><span class="s3"><em>I</em> </span> <span class="s2">like it. Anyways, I’m like... sticky... and stuff.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Sam’s obviously equally dissatisfied with the answer as Peter was with the question.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Rolling his eyes </span> <span class="s3"><em>again</em>, </span> <span class="s2">Clint argues, “C’mon, man. We’re working together on this one, could you </span><span class="s3"><em>pretty-please</em> </span> <span class="s2">take this seriously?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I am taking this seriously.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“No you’re not. Stop being vague.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Well then, Mr. Hawkeye Sir, I promise with <em>sugar</em> and a <em>cherry</em> on top.” Peter finalizes, voice oozing with sarcasm.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Sam mutters under his breath while looking between Peter and Tony,<em> ‘</em></span><em><span class="s3">Great, another one,’ </span></em> <span class="s2">before speaking in a louder tone, “So, your powers?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Sighing, Peter answers seriously. “Alright. Well, I’ve got pretty good hearing. Like, definitely above average,” He nods firmly, “and... let’s see... I can walk on the ceiling and stuff, so, that’s cool. I’ll bet I can bench way more than Captain America, too. And~ I’m pretty fast, pretty flexible, pretty good reflexes, and </span> <span class="s3"><em>oh!</em> </span> <span class="s2">Duh, how could I forget? I’ve got this like, sixth sense thing.” </span></p><p class="p2">Tony leans forward in interest, “A sixth sense? Elaborate.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter huffs but obliges, “I know something’s going to happen before it does.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“So you’re psychic?” Clint laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“No,” Peter rolls his eyes but it’s lost behind the mask of his suit, “It’s like a warning thing. I don’t exactly know </span> <span class="s3"><em>what’s</em> </span> <span class="s2">going to happen, I can just, feel it? It’s hard to explain.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">They boys all nod as if they get it, but it’s clear they don’t. Natasha’s definitely paying closer attention, which is a little unnerving to Peter considering the fact he knows she’s learning about </span> <span class="s3"><em>him</em> </span> <span class="s2">rather than Spider-Man.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Okay, okay, whatever. So, here’s my real question,” Clint starts seriously, “Why do you do it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Do what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“This whole gig.” He motions his hand in a circle around Peter, “This whole ‘looking out for the little guy’ thing. Why do you do it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Because I feel like it.” He shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Clint sighs in exasperation and Sam looks to Tony. It’s like they’re desperately asking for a google-sarcasm-translator. Stark runs his hand down his face and simply stares at Peter, lifting his eyebrows in a ‘just answer it’ way.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter nods, and suddenly shrinks in on himself a little. </span> <em><span class="s3">Should I really be saying any of this at all? </span></em> <span class="s2">It’s hard when he already knows everyone here, but they don’t know </span> <span class="s3"><em>him</em>. </span> <span class="s2">Well, </span> <span class="s3">this </span> <span class="s2">him, anyway. They don’t know much of Peter Parker either. They don’t know of his past, since he’s kept it under lock and key, so they <em>don’t know</em> why he is the way he is. And to Peter, it’s all suddenly very exhausting. <em>So maybe... </em></span><em> <span class="s3">I can lower my guard a little and answer this seriously...?</span></em></p><p class="p2">“When you can do the things that I can...” Peter starts, albeit a little shakily, thinking of Ben, “But... you don’t, and <em>then</em> the bad things happen... they happen because of you.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">With that answer, everyone silences, even Natasha, at the impact. Clint’s face softens a little too, as he’s just made up his mind with that single sentence alone. And Tony... was looking at him oddly. Like there was a light bulb above his head but also a new crack in his heart at the same time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">After a moment, Sam breaks the quiet, “That’s... something. It’s wise, really. You sound too young to have that kind of mindset.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I’m not that young.” Peter retorts quickly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He takes a glance over to Tony again, who was still looking at him as if he’d grown a second head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Natasha comes to the rescue by clearing her throat and finally speaking up, “So! How about we head to the training room and do some sparring.” She smiles tightly and nods at Peter, trying to break the tension, “We can get a feel for your fighting style through some one-on-sparring too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter shows his rhanks through a pat on her knee, which has her smiling genuinely. Unbeknownst to them, Stark was still looking between the two his furrowed eyebrows. But, he simply lets his head fall before he regathers his charisma and claps once, loudly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Great idea!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter laughs and holds a hand out to Clint, who had warmed up to him greatly in the past few hours. He takes his hand and allows himself to be pulled up, patting Peter on the back before walking over to grab a hand towel, tossing one above his head for Peter to catch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Dabbing the sweat off his forehead, Clint walks back over, “That was hardly fair, I hope you know. I specialize in long distance attacks, not hand-to-hand.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Could’ve fooled me.” Peter grins and rocks on the tips of his toes. It was the fourth time he had beaten Clint, and he had beaten Nat all of two times out of five (when holding back his super-strength). He was about to call for a rematch when Sam spoke from the corner of the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s3">“</span> <span class="s2">Yo, it’s eight twenty-one. Sunset’s in about fifteen minutes.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Clint and Peter wipe the smiles off their faces and turn to Nat, who nods at them before grabbing her widow bites of the table. Peter turns and watches Tony pick up the watch that held his suit through nano-tech, and Sam straps a metal container onto his back that must expand in his wings.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Without a word, everyone starts getting ready to head to the jet, and Peter, well, he strangely doesn’t feel out of place. And no one else seems to be acting as if he’s an outsider anymore either. It almost let the butterflies loose in his stomach, knowing that these amazing people somehow already trusted him fully to have their backs and accepted him as part of their pseudo-team unconditionally. It almost felt like how he did when he teamed up with Matt and Wade. Like they were just pieces of a puzzle coming together to do some good. From the Avengers’ perspective, they didn’t even know his </span> <span class="s3"><em>name</em>. </span> <span class="s2">And yet...</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You coming?” Tony turns around at the doorframe, looking at Peter expectantly as he’s the last one in the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Mentally kicking himself for zoning out, Peter activates his webshooters (he turned them off to spar) and jogs to catch up with the rest of the small team. “Ready when you are,” he snarks while passing Tony.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Tony rolls his eyes (they all seem to be doing a lot of that) and shuts the door behind him, following everyone up to the helipad.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Whoa...”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">The jet seemed ridiculously big to only be carrying five people, but it’s probably more practical with the whole team on it. The seats weren’t designed like a normal plane, which makes sense since built to carry way less people. They’re cushioned and reclined, wearing a soft white leather. They also </span> <span class="s3"><em>swivel</em>. </span> <span class="s2">There’s a large TV (which they probably won’t be using, much to Peter’s disappointment) attached to the wall near the tail, and a small bar connected to the adjacent wall (which they again, unfortunately won’t be using). The whole interior’s luxurious and comfortable at the same time.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“First time on a private plane?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“First time on any plane.” Peter answers Sam without a second thought. He gets a weird look in return, but it doesn’t last long. Not everyone flies all the time, of course.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Tony was talking to someone in the pilot’s station, which Peter could listen into if he wanted but ultimately decided whatever heated conversation was happening wasn’t his business. He does however, turn to Nat, who took the seat directly next to him. Sam and Clint opted for the chairs farther down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Who’s that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“It’s Happy. He’s flying us there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Happy can fly a jet?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">She smirks and leans in a little, “Happy can do a lot. You know he used to be a boxer? He wants to be asset manager, beforehand, he was head of security, and before </span> <span class="s3"><em>that</em> </span> <span class="s2">he was just Tony’s driver. He basically just does anything Tony tells him too. Including, occasionally flying the jet.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter smiles and looks at the closed door of the cockpit, “Thanks for the autobiography.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“So, </span> <span class="s3"><em>Peter</em>,” </span> <span class="s2">she whispers dramatically, “mind telling me what all this is?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He looks looks down at his suit then back at Natasha, suddenly feeling stupid for almost forgetting he was in it. “Well, uh, what’s there to know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“For one, you come over ever week and help Tony in the lab, and you’ve met all of us, so, isn’t this weird? I mean, why keep it a secret?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You, of all people, should know. Do they even know your real name?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Touché,” Natasha nods at him respectfully before flicking him on his forehead, “but, I still think it’d be a lot easier to tell them sooner rather than later. They’ll find out eventually.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Honestly?” Peter taps his foot anxiously, thinking back to Tony’s face earlier, “Do you think Mr. Stark already knows? I don’t know what I said, but he was looking at me kind of weird when we were in the common room.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I noticed that, too. But no, I don’t think he’s sure. I think maybe he saw a resemblance in your get-up and you as yourself, but he probably assumed there’s no way you could possibly be the same person.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter angles his head in question (and a twinge of defensiveness), “Well, why couldn’t I?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">Nat laughs, “Slow your roll, маленький паук. You just seem a little nerdy. I mean, <em>I</em> probably wouldn’t have expected it if it weren’t for your first impression. Like really, I can count how many people have sized me up on one hand, and can count how many were actually </span> <span class="s3">right</span> <span class="s2"> the whole time on one </span> <span class="s3">finger.</span><span class="s2">” She bumps his side with her elbow before leaning in again, “Not to mention they’re all dead now.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">It was a dark joke, and probably not a joke at all, but it got Peter laughing. Tony was walking back from the pit just as it happened too, and he literally froze in his spot to stare at the two of them. Peter immediately quieted and swallowed hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Sorry, no, uh, carry on,” He seemed unsure of himself as he looked between the two of them once again. Clint and Sam were also staring down the aisle to see what all the commotion was about. “I just, haven’t seen the ‘scary assassin lady’ warm up to someone so quickly.” Before either could answer, Tony swivels on his heels and sticks his hands in his pockets, twitches his neck in devastating bewilderment before swiftly taking a seat a few rows down.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Natasha and Peter slowly make eye contact before bursting out laughing again.<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The jet starts ascending not too long after, and soon they’re on-route to Short-Hills, New Jersey. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>“Descending in T-Minus ten minutes.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“T-Minus?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Let him have his fun.” Nat shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Sam and Clint stand up as if on que and make their way to the middle of the jet where Tony is. Natasha pats Peter’s thigh and starts getting up too, signaling they should follow suit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Alright,” Stark claps, “recap on the plan. Me, Sam, and Clint take the top. Nat and Spider-Man take the only windows. We meet at the exit. Does everyone have their coms on?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter taps the ear he’s wearing his com in. He had Karen sync with it, but thought better to just wear it to avoid questions about his mysteriously high-tech suit.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Okay. Now, keep it clean unless absolutely necessary. Round any prisoners up, but be careful. They’ll probably try to kill you thanks to Hydra’s </span> <span class="s3"><em>brainwashing.”</em> </span> <span class="s2">Tony spits that last word out with absolute disgust, and everyone nods in agreement. “Let’s see... what else?”</span></p><p class="p2">“How ‘bout this?” Clint turns to Peter seriously, “You’ve been here before, haven’t you?”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Clint not now—“ Sam starts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“No, I uh, I have. It might be able to help.” They all look at him with a jolt, Peter nodding slowly and anxiously fiddling with his thumbs. “Yeah, I can’t get into the details right now because there’s not really any time, but I was here not even a week ago. I was tracking a lead on that new drug, Dice? And I ran into some guy named K. A lot happened, and I woke up in the facility. I wasn’t there long, probably only a day, but I got a good look around.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“And you thought to only mention this </span> <span class="s3"><em>now?” </em></span> <span class="s2">Tony’s fuming, but obviously trying to keep it in.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“How’d you know it was Short Hills?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“It’s embarrassing, but I learned basically every city surrounding New York in my free time. At least it paid off.” Peter answers Sam with a shrug.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Clint looked around as if to say ‘I told you he was hiding something,’ but he drops the act quickly in favor of getting more information. “A </span> <span class="s3">day? </span> <span class="s2">How’d you get out? These guys keep trained people here for </span> <span class="s3"><em>years.”</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I’m smart.” Peter shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Natasha nudges his side again and they make eye contact. </span> <span class="s3"><em>She’s worried? </em></span><span class="s2">Peter shakes his head and looks down, knocking her foot with his to subtly say he’s fine.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>“Descending.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Damn! Okay! Uh, alright. What’s the inside like?” Sam hurries to ask.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter tries to answer just as quickly, “Dank, and dark. All the hallways look the same. I saw the blueprint we got from Friday, and I can’t be sure but I think it’s a little different. I didn’t say earlier because I didn’t want to confuse anyone. Anyways, there’re couple surprisingly well-kept labs, and a bunch of rooms, but I don’t know how many are occupied. There were a ton of agents when I was here, but I kinda fought my way out so I don’t know if they’re all recovered or not. </span> <em><span class="s3">Hopefully not</span></em><span class="s2"><em>,”</em> Peter hissed with venom, “As for who’s in charge, they weren’t there. So that’s a complete mystery to me.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Everyone nodded along as he spoke, more thankful for the information than the fact that he didn’t speak up until now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">With that, Happy announced that they’re currently hovering about a hundred feet up from the building.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Time to move.” Tony got up and hit a side button on his watch, forcing the nanotechnology of the Ironman suit to wrap around him. He walked over to the side door and turned it open, causing the air pressure to release and let in swarms of swirling winds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Sam went first, grabbing Clint and pulling a strap to unfold his wings while simultaneously jumping out of the jet. Peter widened his eyes at the sight, but didn’t have time to regain himself as Tony grabbed onto him and Natasha. Without much of a warning, he flew out and shut the door behind him before meeting the other two down on the roof.</span>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">With a thud, Natasha and Peter were dropped a few feet above the surface and Tony turned off his repulses to land. Instantly, he signaled ‘right’ to Nat and ‘left’ to Peter. They ran in opposite directions to get to their areas. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Tony was right, the window </span> <span class="s3">is </span> <span class="s2">small. Peter wastes no time in smashing it in. Slipping in through the tight squeeze, he lands on solid concrete in a room full of computers.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Oh... hi.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Instantly, five trigger-happy pistols are pointed at him and Peter thanks the gods he got a lot of sleep last night because his Spidey-Sense is working over time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>Left. Right. Above.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter ducks a bullet before slinging a web with a sharp </span> <span class="s3"><em>‘thwip!’</em> </span> <span class="s2">towards the man farthest to the right. He then swings him into the other agents lined up, making quick work in knocking them out instantaneously.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Speaking into the coms, Peter announces his status, “West wing, second floor, clear. It’s a room with a bunch of monitors— looks like they’re screening practically everything,” he explains as he zones in on the computer screens. Some of them are turned off, which means the room is probably currently empty. Peter quickly disables any alarms that might be used to alert their invasion, internally grateful that the servers were already logged in and on an easy-to-find tab.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>“Jackpot. Relay which rooms are active.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s3">“East side is clear too.” </span></em> <span class="s2">Natasha provides.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s3">“Good news.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter clicks through the screens one by one. “Alright, looks like the third floor’s cells are completely vacant, but there’s two labs. They have three armed agents and a scientist in each one. Floor four is underground, you were right Tony, and the cells there are full. There’s only three. It’s flooded with agents too. The last floor has some labs, same up as before, and there’s only one occupied cell—“</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s3">Oh my god. </span></em> <span class="s2">Peter freezes upon seeing her. She’s bloody and bruised, her collar is back, she’s chained to her metal cot-post, but she’s there all the same. Alive and breathing. </span> <em><span class="s3">I have to get to her.</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>“Spider-Man? Yo, Spidey, what is it?”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter’s ears stop ringing in time for him to hear Sam trying to get his attention over the coms.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I’m going to floor five.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>“What? Hey! Stick to the plan! Don’t get reckless!”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">At the same time Clint shouts after him over the coms, Peter busts through the door that leads to the hallway, hurrying to find the stair case down to the next floor. He reaches it in only about to minutes, but stops on the first step at the shaking coming from above him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>“We’re in.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter can here the rubble caving into the first floor as he kicks back up his mission to get down down </span> <span class="s3"><em>down.</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>“маленький паук, where are you?”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>“Nat! No one here knows Russian! Do you need help?”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>“No, I’m good.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I’m alright, мама паук. I’m going down, I’ll handle everyone I run into. Signing off coms!”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s3">“Oh... well, apparently </span> <span class="s2">he </span> <span class="s3">knows Russian—“</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s3">“Spidey! Do </span> <span class="s2">not </span> <span class="s3">turn off y—“</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Sam’s voice cuts out as Peter disables his earpiece in favor of Karen’s directions.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">With the tip that the room at the end of the staircase housed four agents, Peter jumps the ceiling and scrambles into the room. After taking a quick look around, he shoots a web at one of the men and sticks him to the ceiling next to him, webbing up his mouth too. He repeats the process once before dropping to the floor and facing the last two agents head on. And honestly, <em>for being such a ‘renowned and evil criminal organization,’ </em></span> <span class="s3"><em>these guys aren’t too hard to handle</em>. </span> <span class="s2">Peter figures their best soldiers are out, thanks to him, but that could just be him patting his own back.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Easily, he snatches their guns away and speedily runs up to the two, conking their heads together forcefully and knocking them out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Where to, Karen?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘The fastest route to floor 5 would be to take the door to the right, then the one straight ahead in that room, and then take the door to the left, which will lead to another stair case.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Got it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter zooms through the door, almost instantly taking out the three agents having lunch due to them having their guards down. </span> <em><span class="s3">Did they </span></em><span class="s3">not</span><em><span class="s3"> hear the huge crash the from the roof?</span></em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">As Karen directed, Peter takes the door straight ahead and then takes the door to the left, after finding that last room empty. </span> <em><span class="s3">Floor 3. Almost there.</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Peter!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Karen, I thought my coms were off—“ Peter chides his A.I. while taking out an agent with one of those awful shock-things.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“No, <em>Peter</em>, you dumbass!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He turns to find the source of the voice by looking over his shoulder, and he finds a pissed off Natasha swinging her legs around an agents neck— dropping him to the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Oh! Nat, hey!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">There’s two more guys left in the room, standing next to each other and shooting clip after clip at the spider-duo. With a simple nod at each other, they run up to the agents in sync, dodging bullets left and right before jumping up and delivering a double-roundhouse kick in mid-air.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">With the agents scattered on the floor, they both take a minute to catch their breath. Well, Peter does at least.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What were you thinking!?” Nat flicks his forehead again, “You don’t turn your coms off on a mission like this! And busting through these rooms by yourself? You could’ve gotten seriously hurt! What’s the rush?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter rubs his forward before answering, “I know someone here... Well, I don’t know her name. But I promised I’d come back. She’s on floor five and I need to get there before they do anything. I took her collar off last time, so they probably know I’m coming, and I don’t know why but I can’t let anything happen to her because—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Peter! Hey! Take a breath, alright?” Natasha grabs both of his shoulders and give him a light shake, “We’ll get her. C’mon, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Nat kicks the next door open while pressing her ear and speaking through the coms, “I got him. We’ll explain later. All floors clear until four, we’re taking the east side so you guys take the west and meet us at the bottom.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Upon entering the next room, there’s significantly more agents at the ready. It’s lucky there’s two of them now, as it would’ve been a serious problem for just one of them to take on about ten agents alone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter quickly jumps into action by webbing up two AR-15’s while Natasha brings down a few men with a combative grace.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“AR’s, they had those on yacht too— think it’s connected?” Peter asked adequately, socking an armored-up lady right under her jaw.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Could be,” Natasha was short in her answer, as she was in the middle of strangling someone with a vice grip of her thighs and shooting a widow bite over her head at the same time— which landed directly on a young man’s forehead, shocking him to unconsciousness.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Debating the idea, Peter let his mind wander for a moment, which turned out to be a dire mistake as he miscalculated the distance of another women agent who had come up behind him. In an instant, she prodded Peter’s neck with a rod, which sent an electronic throughout his entire body. Dropping to his knees at the intense, white-hot pain, he screamed out.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Oh, my god! </span> <span class="s3"><em>Peter!</em></span> <span class="s2">” Nat kick the women in the head and tried to get to him, but was caught up with the remaining attackers.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The pain still felt new to Peter, almost like he’d felt it again in a second wave, but when the fuzzy black spots started clearing from his vision, he blinked hard with realization.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s3">“We know who you are, Parker. All of you. We’ve been watching you.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s3">“You’ll hold a very high rank. Run our tech division, if you volunteer. Or even in our combat division. You’re very talented.” A silhouette of a man chuckles darkly. “If not, you’ll have no rank, and a lot of pain. Of course, either way,” he bows in a joking matter, almost like a curtsy, “your services will be required.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Peter! Hey! Can you hear me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>“Bite me.” Peter spits.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <em>The man laughs and pats Peter’s back with a hard slap, “I like you, kid.” But his actions contradict his words as he motions for a guard standing watch, who steps up and prods Peter with a taser rod at the nape of his neck.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s3">“Peter! </span> <span class="s2">Fucking answer me!”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter sputters from the memory, the man’s silhouette suddenly morphing to Natasha Romanoff’s petrified face. <em>What the hell </em>was <em>that?</em></span>
</p><p class="p2">The slapping of her hand slows it’s rhythm until it’s resting on his cheek, and Peter blinks a few more times to refocus his vision all the way. With a start, he promptly stands up and wipes the dust off his legs, “Yeah, yeah, I’m... I’m fine.” She’s still looking at him weird, so he tries again, “Seriously, Nat. I’m good. Just hurt like a bitch... C’mon, let’s go.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Against her better judgement, Natasha nods her head and they quickly make their way to the staircase together, bounding down the steps and barraging through the flimsy metal door that keeps Level 5 secure. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And there she is. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry for the cliffhanger 😶 this was gonna be longer, probably ab 10k words so I could finish up Operation Infiltrate Hydra (that’s what it’s called in my notes lol), but I feel like my writing style is a little bit off right now and I wanted to finish it right— not rushed, yk? Lmk if this *does* feel rushed or if there’s any confusing mistakes!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. You Can Call Me 2174</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 3988</p><p>I’m drunk asf</p><p>Also it’s my big brothers birthday!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘On floor five’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">The sound of Natasha’s voice speaking into the coms is muffled against Peter’s ears. The air around him seems stiff and viscous, and he feels like he can actually </span> <span class="s1">see</span> <span class="s2"> the world spinning on it’s axis. Because— there she is. Right there. He doesn’t know </span> <em> <span class="s1">why </span> </em> <span class="s2">he cares so much, but for whatever reason, something else in him snaps a little upon seeing her.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">She’s bloody and bruised, clothes ripped up from slashes and burned from taser rods. Her collar is back on and so tight this time she can probably hardly breathe. And when she looks up through her matted, silvery-blonde hair from her spot on the floor, she jolts upon seeing Peter again— causing the chains around her wrists to make her cry out and sting her eyes with tears that won’t fall.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter is forced back to reality as he gets socked in the jaw by a particularly buff agent, making him stumble a little before he’s pistol-whipped on the other side of his face. Shaking his head, he blinks hard and refocuses by scanning the room in a once-over.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"><em>No windows</em>, </span> <span class="s2">Peter runs his vision around the perimeter of the room, </span> <em> <span class="s1">two doors, four enhanced in cages</span> </em> <span class="s2"><em>.</em> His thought process is cut off by the man going in for another hit, but Peter distractedly caught his fist without even looking, and skillfully chopped him in the neck, making the agent immediately drop to the floor with a spitter.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Peter, </span> <em> <span class="s1">focus!”</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Nodding at Natasha, who’s currently occupied with three scumbags at once, Peter takes only one more second to evaluate the situation through his senses. </span> <em> <span class="s1">Footsteps from behind the doors— they’re getting in position. Ten agents stationed in here, so it’s likely each room contains the same amount. </span><span class="s1">They have a weird thing for magic numbers—</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter ducks a punch from a female guard by crouching to the floor, then swiping his leg the left to knock her off her feet. He webs her without a second glance as he zeros in on the man hurrying to Cat Lady.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">She’s still crying out and budging against her chains, long hair sticking to her face due to either the tears or the sweat. Just as she makes eye-contact with Peter again, the man smacks her, </span> <span class="s1"><em>hard</em>, </span> <span class="s2">on her left cheek— her head sharply turning to the side as a bright red handprint came to life on her pale skin.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">And a fury builds in Peter, <em>trying</em> to get to her as agent after agent swarms him. He’s kicking and fighting and just </span> <span class="s1">trying </span> <span class="s2">to get to the other side of the room, but the man is reaching to his pant leg for the taser rod, and Peter watches her eyes follow his movements with pure fear until the agent quickly brings it up to her neck—</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The involuntary scream rose up and bubbled in Peter’s throat before he could stop it, scratching his trachea and coercing it’s way through his vocal chords as he stumbles forwards in a desperate attempt to get to her before they could make her hurt anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“Felicia!”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“Hi. I’m Black Cat.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Peter stares confusedly at the blue eyes that greeted him. They were big and round— and way to close to his face.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>With a start, Peter pushes a shoulder gently away from him so he can get the full picture. Looking around, he‘s in a dark room with cement walls, there’s rusted metal pipes sticking out from the ceiling, and a rhythmic drip of ice cold water is falling down and running the length of his back. With a shiver, Peter turns back to the girl. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“I’m Peter,” he nods.</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">But she didn’t seem to like that answer, as she flinched and searched the room in a paranoid manner, despite knowing they’re completely alone. After apparently confirming they were </span> <span class="s2">in fact </span> <span class="s1">alone, Black Cat leans back in and whispers, “That’s not your name anymore. They’ll hurt you for that. You’re either Spider or number 2176. Didn’t they tell you?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Blinking rapidly, Peter wracks his brain for any type of indication that he was told that. But he didn’t get far, as he suddenly felt like his head was bashed into a brick wall at full force. He clamps his hands over his temples, trying to keep in the wince as he screws his eyes shut.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“You can’t do that either, Spider. They’ll hurt you more if you show you’re hurt.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Peter lets go for a second to look at her again, but she’s pointing to the corner of the room where a camera with a blinking red light was settled, staring directly at them.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“They’re watching. I don’t know if they can hear us right now,” Black Cat shrugs at Peter and makes herself comfortable by sitting in a ball and leaning against the back wall, “I haven’t been here that long, so I don’t know all the rules or how things work yet.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>When Peter doesn’t answer, she shrugs again and continues her monologue, knowing that he’s listening despite not engaging.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“2172 used to tell me. But, he’s gone now. I don’t know where he went.” She looks down and brings her legs into her chest more, laying her fingers in the ground to pick at a patch of crusted blood. “He was probably compromised on a mission. Or maybe Mr. Daryl hit him a little too hard for messing up.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“Mr. Daryl?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Seemingly elated that Peter decided to join the conversation, she nods excitedly before retracting into herself again and going back to picking at the blood. “Mr. Daryl runs things here.” She blows a strand of silver hair out of her face, and Peter could understand why, but his heart dropped.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>There was something so heartbreakingly tragic about seeing such a beautiful and seemingly kind-hearted girl pick at a dried blood stain on a cellar floor, pulling on her chained wrists to make the effort.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“How long have you been here, exactly?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em><span class="s1">Black Cat tapped her bare feet against the cool cement, “Hard telling. I only know when I go outside and I haven’t been on a mission in a while because they want to run tests instead. Not that I’m complaining though. I’d </span> <span class="s2">rather</span> <span class="s1">run tests.” She blows her hair away again before abruptly changing the subject and turns back to Peter with her big doe eyes. “So! You must be something special. You’re all they’ve been talking about.”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“They?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“You ask a lot of questions,” She chuckles lightly, but it wasn’t a pretty laugh. It sounded very wrong to Peter. “But that’s okay. By they, I mean the guards. And the doctors— they talk too. They say you’re super smart and super strong so they’ll have to be careful, but you’re already trained so it’s ‘worth it.’ Are you super smart and super strong?”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>A little taken aback, Peter tries not to spiral and just focus on her fingers, chipping away at the spatters. He’d rather take a moment to gain information, but how could he shut her down?</em></span> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“Yeah, I- I guess.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Her eyes widen again as she takes in a sharp breath, “You can’t stutter. They’ll hurt you.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>Peter laughs darkly, “Can I do anything without them hurting me?”</em></span> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>The girl relaxes and nods, “Of course. You’ll probably get a mission after they make you sit down. It hurts. But after that they don’t hurt you again for a while. As long as you listen.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“You keep mentioning ‘missions.’ What do you do on missions?”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Black Cat once again visibly hesitates, but instead of switching the topic again, she suddenly changes drastically. She no longer seemed young and precious as she spoke, “You do a lot of things. My first mission was arson. It was a safe-house in Cabana, Peru. The city was beautiful, but the screams and fire kind of ruined the atmosphere.” </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Peter decided to stay quiet to that. Her words came out easy, but he could hear her heartbeat picking up pace as she quietly leveled her breathing in a practiced manner. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“... Can you tell me your name?”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“It’s Black Cat. Or you can call me 2174.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">“No. You’re </span> </em> <span class="s2">real </span> <em> <span class="s1">name. The one you had </span> </em> <span class="s2">before</span> <em> <span class="s1"> coming here.”</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“There is no before. Whatever was before shouldn’t matter anymore.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">“You said shouldn’t, therefore, it </span> </em> <span class="s2">does?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>At that, she flinched so harshly her chains cut her wrists into bleeding again. But the pain seemed to ground her, as she regained herself after only a moment. “You’re very nosey. You’re going to get in a lot of trouble for that.” </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">Peter sighed and repositioned himself, hopping over his linked arms to set his vibranium-cuffed hands into his lap. Accepting he wasn’t going to get any real answers, Peter tries scanning the room one more time in search for— well, </span> </em> <span class="s2">anything </span> <em> <span class="s1">that might help him escape.</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>“You’re not going to be able to.”</em> </span> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“To what?” Peter asks, spacing out in favor of desperately forming a plan</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>“To escape.” She says simply, picking the last of the blood stain off the ground. “I tried my first few weeks here, but they made me sit down when I did.”</em></span> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“What’s so bad about sitting down? Is that a metaphor?”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“Not a metaphor.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>Peter shrugs again and just chalks it up to her being a little crazy. “You never know. They’re underestimating me, and I </em>am<em> pretty smart. I might just get lucky.” Peter watches her for a reaction, but she doesn’t get to speak up when he hears footsteps approaching from down the hall. “Someone‘s coming,” he whispers, but Black Cat was already on the other side of the room, picking her nails now instead of blood patches.</em></span> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>“I heard.” She says meekly, “They’re going to make you sit.”</em></span> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“I’m already sitting.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>Just then, a man in full armor (like the ones who dragged him into the truck at K’s) smiled at him with dirty, yellow, decaying teeth.</em></span> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“I see you two are getting aquatinted.” The man keeps the wicked grin on his face as he side-eyes Black Cat, who balls herself up as tightly as possible. He scoffs and turns back to Peter, back-handing him so quickly, even his Spidey-Sense had barely enough time to warn him.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">The metal rings on the guard’s fingers split open Peter’s cheek and made the inside of his mouth bleed where the skin pinched against his back teeth. Black Cat winced in the background, but Peter just slowly stabilized himself and stared at the man hardly. When he didn’t say anything, the guard hit him </span> <span class="s2">again, </span> <span class="s1">and again, and again. It was almost like he </span></em> <span class="s2">wanted <em>Peter</em></span> <em> <span class="s1"> to talk back. But instead, he cracks his jaw and laughs darkly— more as a big ‘fuck you’ to the guard. Black Cat seems scared, and the man must of followed Peter’s eyes because soon after he kicks her </span> </em> <span class="s2">hard <em>in</em></span> <em> <span class="s1"> the ribs, then in the face, causing her to cry out and smack her head on the ground. </span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>The guard spits on the floor next to her before turning back to Peter, grabbing his jaw and getting so close to his face Peter almost gags on the smell of his breath. “You’re going to the chair, smart-ass.”</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>He head butted Peter’s forehead with the force a truck, letting him fall before picking him back up and moving to drag him out the door. Black Cat’s still on the floor, watching. She visibly recoiled when ‘the chair’ was mentioned, and Peter pieced together that that’s what she meant when she said ‘sit down.’</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><em>Just before the guard pulled Peter all the way out, Black Cat suddenly stood up and shouted, “My name’s Felicia! Felicia Hardy!</em>”<br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter squints his eyes and looks around before doubling over in pain, taking his mask off to cough out a couple spatters of blood. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Peter!? Oh my god!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Looking back up, he takes his surroundings in for a second time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Somehow, there’s piles of black-armored agents scattered across the floor, and there’s no longer any footsteps to be heard— excluding the rest of the team kicking ass in the west wing above him. Next, his eyes land on Natasha, who’s leather outfit is covered in blood, and she’s... staring at him. Like she’s shocked. Shaking his head, Peter moves on. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And right in front of him, is a teary eyed Felicia Hardy. Her silver hair is still sticking to her wet face, and the blood on her cheeks looks like a gruesome blush. Her blue eyes are as wide as saucers, and her hand is paused, like it was reaching out to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>What the fuck... just happened?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You... remember me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“You said my name! You remember me!” Her smile is blinding and she’s no longer frozen, but instead wrapping her arms tightly around Peter in elation. “I can’t believe it! You said— you </span> <span class="s1"><em>said</em> </span> <span class="s2">you’d come back! I didn’t think you would, but you really did! They even erased your memories, but you </span> <em><span class="s1">still</span></em> <span class="s2"> know my name!—“</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Natasha cuts off the excitement with a deep sigh, “As heartwarming at this is... what the </span> <span class="s1">fuck? </span> <span class="s2">маленький паук, are you okay? You totally spaced out then went all acrobatic-James-Bond on these guys,” she looks down and lightly kicks a female agent who’s knocked out on the floor.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What?” Peter scrunches his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Yeah, you were <em>super</em> cool. It was even cooler than when </span> <em><span class="s1">we </span></em> <span class="s2">fought. How’d you do that?” Felicia nudged his side.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I— I don’t? Um, I don’t really know?” When he was met with confused faces, Peter retries, “Like, one minute I’m yelling your name, and the next I’m bombarded with like <em>hours</em> of memories, and now here we are?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">That only seemed to confuse the two more, but apparently for different reasons, as Felicia spoke up. “Hold on, you only </span> <span class="s1"><em>just</em> </span> <span class="s2">got your memories back? So then, you don’t have all of them yet? What do you remember?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Later,” Nat starts, “First, you need to sign back onto your coms. Second, you need to explain what </span> <span class="s1"><em>this</em>,” </span> <span class="s2">she motions between Peter and Felicia, “is, </span> <span class="s1"><em>and</em> </span> <span class="s2">you’re gonna tell me how you feel.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“How I feel?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Yes. </span> <span class="s1"><em>Peter</em>, </span> <span class="s2">you went batshit crazy on these guys, then </span> <span class="s1"><em>literally</em> </span> <span class="s2">coughed up blood because of how bad your head pain was. Are you </span> <span class="s1"><em>seriously</em> </span> <span class="s2">okay?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah,” Peter pulls his mask back on, abruptly remembering that the rest of the avengers would be arriving soon, “yeah, I’m fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Natasha doesn’t look convinced, but drops the subject all the same.<em> “</em></span> <em> <span class="s1">Sign on,”</span> </em> <span class="s2"> she says sternly.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Okay, okay... </span> <em><span class="s1">мама паук</span></em><span class="s2"><em>,”</em> Peter snarks in Russian before tapping his earpiece twice to turn it back on. “Connect it, Karen.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘Of course, Peter.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2">“Who’re you talking to?”</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“It’s my AI,” Peter starts to explain to Felicia, turning his head only to find her </span> <span class="s1"><em>way</em> </span> <span class="s2">in his bubble, so he lightly pushes her back a bit before going on, “Personal space, Felicia. It’s my AI, Karen. She controls my suit for me.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“That’s amazing! All my suit does is give me claws,” she giggles.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah, it’s alright,” Peter grins dopily before speaking into the coms, “Hey, sorry for turning my com off. Me and Widow took tare care of the east side and level five. What’s taking you guys so long?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">‘What’s taking us— Spider-Man, you little shit! You </span> </em> <span class="s2">don’t </span> <em><span class="s1">block communications! Second of all, </span> <span class="s2">we</span> <span class="s1"> got stuck with a giant fucking robot! So you can—“</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>‘Shut up, Sam! Watch my six!’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">‘</span></em><span class="s2">Clint, </span><em><span class="s1">how many times do I have to tell you? We are </span> </em> <span class="s2">not </span> <em> <span class="s1">using cop-lingo.’</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘Shut up, Tony. It’s cool.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“A giant </span> <em><span class="s1">robot? </span></em> <span class="s2">You’re shitting me right?” Peter looks to Nat, who’s shaking her head but silently listening to the chaos all the same.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em><span class="s1">‘Man, </span> <span class="s2">fuck </span> <span class="s1">you! Just get here!’</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Coming.” Natasha nods at Peter in confirmation before looking eyes with him and glances towards Felicia in question.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Oh! She’s fine,” Peter turns to her and smiles again, re-feeling that odd sensation of pure trust. Her head was titled now, and Peter’s eyes drop to her neck where the brace was replaced. Without warning, he reached his hand out and broke it again, causing her to have another coughing fit before recovering. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“Thank you,” she says while holding onto her throat.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Hey guys, we got one more.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>‘What do you mean?’ </em> </span> <span class="s2">Tony asks through the connection.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“There’s this girl I met last time I was here, Felicia. She’s good though, we can trust her, I promise. She hasn’t been here that long and they haven’t brainwashed her in months. There’s a couple more enhanced down here; they’re like, passed out right now though,” Peter explains while scanning the room and counting the four mutants he apparently took out earlier.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘Nat? What’s your take?’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter and Felicia look to her, but she’s already watching. He can tell she’s deducting. Scanning the ‘Hydra agent’ for signs of malicious intent, personality, emotional stability, and loneliness. Peter can tell, because those were the first things he looked for in her too.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“She’s good,” Natasha deems. She doesn’t give the two teens much time so revel in the fact that </span> <span class="s1"><em>Black Widow</em> </span> <span class="s2">trusted someone so easily, because she starts running back for the staircase immediately after answering Tony. “Let’s move it! We’ll come back for the others after.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Don’t bother,” Felicia speaks up on the way to the exit. “They’re too far gone. I’m the only one who’s been here for less than a year. From what I’ve heard, this is just a small half-way-house kind of base. They’re all transfers.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Got it.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">“There </span></em> <span class="s2">you are!” Falcon swoops down and torpedoes into the huge robot, causing it to stumble. IronMan takes this opportunity to blast a few times while Clint shot arrows at its ‘head.’</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What’s the plan?” Peter swings out a holding Felicia and Natasha, setting them down just as Sam lands in front of them.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“The </span> <em><span class="s1">plan </span></em> <span class="s2">is to take out this evil-ass android motherfucker! But we’ve been at this for almost twenty minutes now, and we’ve </span> <em><span class="s1">barely </span></em> <span class="s2">made a dent—“ Sam cuts himself off to look at Felicia, but doesn’t seem to find anything to comment on as he simply welcomes her, “Hey, heard you’re pretty cool for an assassin. Stay out of this one though, no offense,” then proceeds with his earlier rant, “So, </span> <em><span class="s1">any</span></em> <span class="s2"> ideas are welcome!”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter leans over to catch the scene happening behind Sam. The robot’s arms have smashed the entire east side of the building into rubble, and Tony’s suit looks pretty banged up. Now that he’s looking for it, Sam doesn’t look to be in good shape either. As for Clint, his arrows don’t seem to be doing too much. So clearly, </span> <em><span class="s1">Nat and Lisha definitely have to stay back. </span></em> <span class="s2">Peter darts his eyes between the team, the robot, and the setting continuously before jumping into action.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Totally ignoring whatever Sam had been saying, Peter shoots a web at a tree and swings over to be closer to the action. “Hey, guys! You ever seen The Incredibles?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">‘Are you kidding me? How old even </span> </em> <span class="s2">are</span> <em> <span class="s1"> you? And don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you!’</span> </em></p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">‘Hey! That was a major feature film! And dude, no offense, but you sound like Steve.’ </span></em> <span class="s2">Clint comes to Peter’s defense against Sam.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘I take full offense to that, asshole.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Technically, I </span> <em><span class="s1">swung</span></em> <span class="s2"> away.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>‘Shut up, Spidey. You’re an asshole too. And yes, of </em>course<em>, we’ve seen the fucking Incredibles. What’s your point?</em>’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Well, remember the ending? How the only thing that could penetrate the metal was the same metal itself?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘Don’t say penetrate.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘Hang on, Clint. Kid might have a point.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Tony changes his angle of attack and starts blasting at the robot’s arms, <em>‘</em></span> <em> <span class="s1">Hey, Underoos! Do your super-spider-strength-thing and try to pull this arm out!’</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Got it,” Peter swings over to Tony, who’s still blasting relentlessly at the joint. He lands on the arm and bends down so his hands and feet are sticking to the metal, despite it flailing around. Crawling to the hand, he starts to pull.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘God, that was so creepy looking. Man, you really do look like a damn spider sometimes. Do you have eight eyes under that mask?’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Wow, that’s an interesting question,” Peter grunts, pulling as hard as he can in the arm, hearing it crack slightly, “Hmph, I wonder.” With that, the arm came completely off and fell to the ground with a loud thud.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">‘What kind of answer is that?’ </span></em> <span class="s2">Sam makes a face before diving down and picking up the arm on one side, Tony the other.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘So now what? You guys just ram it into the middle like the movie and hope it works?’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘Pretty much.’ </span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">Tony answers Clint at the same time as he and Sam start flying speedily towards the robot. And with one single push, the metal arm </span> <em><span class="s1">actually </span></em> <span class="s2">cuts through the body like butter. They move back and forth, stabbing it a few times to wreck the technology on the inside completely.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Huh. It really </span> <em><span class="s1">is</span></em> <span class="s2"> like an Omnitriod. Who knew?” Peter chuckles to himself in disbelief.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">‘What the fuck is an Omnitriod?’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“That’s what they’re called in the movie.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Sam and Tony drop the arm and fly away from the robot. As soon as they land next to Peter a good distance away from it, it starts to teeter.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“No </span> <em><span class="s1">fucking</span></em> <span class="s2"> way.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The ‘Omnitriod’s’ light fades out and it starts leaning to the right, before falling completely. It digs a crater into the ground because of the force, and a ton of dust and dirt misted around the area— causing their visibility to almost completely diminish.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Everyone’s on edge, waiting for an attack, but instead, the mist clears. And they’re left with a huge broken robot lying in the dirt.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You’re like a fuckin’ Jedi, Spidey.“ Sam laughs and elbows Peter’s side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“No, he just watches Pixar movies,” Tony sighs and pokes the robot, “Alright c’mon, let’s call Fury.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“So, what do I do from here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What do you mean?” </span>
</p><p class="p2">Peter and Felicia are leaning on each other in the back of the jet, while the rest of the avengers play cards near the front. They’d talked to Fury earlier, who said the best course of action was to bring all the enhanced to S.H.I.E.L.D. and to leave clean up to Damage Control.</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“I </span> <em><span class="s1">mean</span></em><span class="s2">,” Felicia takes her head off Peter’s shoulder to look at him, “am I just gonna be locked up again?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“What? No, no. Well, not </span> <span class="s1"><em>really</em>,” </span> <span class="s2">realizing he wasn’t helping, Peter takes a breath and restarts, “Um, I’ve never actually </span> <span class="s1">met </span> <span class="s2">Nick Fury. But,” he lowers his voice to a whisper, “I hacked into shield once. I know they’re used to getting enhanced people from all kinds of places, and more often than not, they train to be an agent after passing a psych test.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Felicia furrows her eyebrows and leans off of Peter completely to look out the window. “... I don’t want to hurt people anymore. Will shield make me kill the good guys? How will I </span> <span class="s1">know </span> <span class="s2">if they’re bad guys? Because, Hydra tried to tell me the Avengers were bad. And if they would’ve brainwashed me every week, I never would’ve remembered that they’re not. That </span> <span class="s1"><em>you’re</em> </span> <span class="s2">not—“</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Lisha! Hey, shield’s not like that. They </span> <em><span class="s1">are </span></em> <span class="s2">the good guys. They’re just gonna ask you some questions— probably things about your powers, personality, and views on things. And they’ll give you a dorm, not a cell. And before long, I’m absolutely positive that they’ll let you help.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Help with what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter goes to run his fingers through his hair but stops when he realizes he’s still Spider-Man right now. Sighing, he tries to explain, “Beat the bad guys, you know? You can make up for all that Hydra made you do, and then some.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Felicia leans back onto Peter’s shoulder, suddenly exhausted, “I still don’t really understand. But, you make it sound like it’ll be okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“It </span> <span class="s1"><em>will</em>.” </span> <span class="s2">Peter puts his arm around her and pets her hair as a sign of comfort. </span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Hey! Happy says we’re landing in five, so get ready to meet the pirate, Spider-Dick!”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Fuck off, Clint!” Peter raises his free hand to flaunt his middle finger, but sits up straighter nonetheless. </span> <em><span class="s1">Fury? Wasn’t he the one who told Tony to hack Alexo in the first place?</span></em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>SUPER sorry for the cliffhanger and short chapter but I just felt like I needed to get this up sooner than I could finish! So next chapter will be the end of Operation Infiltrate Hydra and then intro to P_____ W___ O_____ 😏😏😏 (hehe, turning point! Try to guesss)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. That Was Weird, Right?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 2985<br/>LMAO HI! yoooo I’m soo sorry this took so long to get out like, my god. Are y’all even still reading? Did you give up? </p><p>Oh well lol ok so this is only like 3k words as opposed to my usual 5k but it’ll have to do!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Lisha, are you really okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">“‘</span><span class="s2">Lisha?’” </span></em> <span class="s1">She giggles, “Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter blushes slightly, “Well, I mean, you got hurt pretty bad. And I’m just, i don’t know. I’m really surprised you’ve already adjusted so well...”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Honestly, Peter,” tucking her hair behind her ear, Felicia continues, “Being there? You learn to adjust to </span> <span class="s2"><em>anything</em>. </span> <span class="s1">Maybe if I were there longer, I’d be a little more messed up. But, oddly enough, it already feels like it was ages ago.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What about family? Do you have one?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No they died when I was little...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, same.” Peter gives her a sad smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quickly trying to lighten the mood, Felicia forces a bright laugh, “Maybe they have a vendetta against orphans!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe.” Peter laughs along. “So... you’re good?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m fine, Peter. Pinky promise.” She holds out her pinky and Peter takes it— eternally grateful that his mask hides his face.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Preparing for landing.</span> <span class="s1">”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They look at each other before sitting back and buckling their seat belts. The rest of the avengers are in the pit with Happy, but Peter can hear the click that indicates they are doing the same. But while listening in, he hears something else interesting. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>‘And did you look into Alexo like I asked, Stark?’</em> </span> <span class="s1">Fury asks over the pixelated tone of a phone call, clearly not expecting to hear satisfying news.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“I’ll have you know, I did.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>“What’s Alexo?”</em> </span> <span class="s1">Sam whispers, presumably to Clint, but gets ignored. Or maybe he was met with a shrug?</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Felicia gives him a look, but he pretends not to notice as he leans in to eavesdrop further.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘Well? What did you find?’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“Not much. The company seems clean enough.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘What’s else? I know when you’re holding out on me by now, Stark.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a pause in the conversation as Tony relays over what he can say without giving Peter totally away. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>“The CEO’s young, that’s all. Murdock is a cover, like you suspected, but I didn’t find anything on him either. He’s a good lawyer, and from what I can tell, Silver Alkyon just works in self defense technology.”</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘...hmm.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter’s now squirming even more, mind reeling. </span> <em><span class="s2">So the director of SHIELD really </span> <span class="s1">is </span> <span class="s2">looking into me? And ‘hmm?’ What’s that supposed to mean? What’s he knows about Matt?</span></em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Happy cuts into Peter’s thoughts with a, </span><em> <span class="s2">“we’ll be down in a couple minutes,”</span></em> <span class="s1"> directed at Fury.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘See you then.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And just like that, all conversation ends with the disconnection of the encrypted line.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter absentmindedly glances in her direction, back at the pit door, and then back to Felicia. “Sorry. I was listening in.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Listening into what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lowers his voice to just above a whisper, “They were on a call with Fury, the director of SHIELD,” he explains, pointing down the isle.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She nods her head, but it’s clear she still doesn’t totally get it. Peter sighs and slumps down into his chair, “Can you keep a secret?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Felicia laughs lightly, “Forget who you’re talking to?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right,” Peter sighs again, “well, I run a company. But I’m not old enough to do it, so I do it from the shadows. And SHIELD is technically a government organization, even if them and the secret service don’t really get along with each other. And Fury’s been looking into my company.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why would he do that? Doesn’t SHIELD focus on, like, 804s and humanity threats?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yeah, usually.” Peter goes to run his hand down his face but stops midway when he realizes he’s wearing his mask, but is internally grateful that she didn’t ask about Alexo when he knows he never mentioned it. “My guess is just as good as yours. I mean, it’s possible thathe knows I’m enhanced, but that’s unlikely since he asked Tony to look into me. Although I </span> <span class="s2"><em>did</em> </span> <span class="s1">hack his records not that long ago... so I wouldn’t be surprised if he knocks my door down sometime soon. Either way, I feel like he </span> <span class="s2"><em>probably</em></span> <span class="s1"> knows who I am despite Mr. Stark’s best efforts.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Felicia was going to say something, but the plane landed just then, leading the Avengers to start unbuckling and making their way to the back of the jet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Stark comes into view, he snaps and points, “Up. C’mon, Fury’s waiting.” </span>
</p><p class="p2">Peter and her stand at the same time and turn around as the door comes down.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When it reaches the floor, there he stands in all his glory. The long black coat covering his crossed arms and rippling in the wind, eyepatch contrasting his face along with the scowl— Nick Fury.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>“Nick! Buddy!</em></span> <span class="s1"> Long time no see!”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leave it to Tony Stark to piss off such a powerful man in less than three seconds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Instead of answering, Fury rolls his eye(s?) and walks to the edge of the door ramping down to the ground, “Where are they?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter bumps Felicia with his elbow, “I promise he’s not as intense as he seems. I read a file that he wears the eyepatch because a cute little kree cat scratched him blind,” Peter chuckles, causing Felicia to snort from the absurdity of the fact.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fury snaps his head in their direction, shutting them up immediately. He then gives Tony a pointed look before motioning for Felicia to walk to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gives Peter a worried glance, but was immediately calmed by his lax stature and made her way to the man. He backed up a little to give her the space to step out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s your name?” He asks quietly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lisha looks to the ground, away from his piercing eye, “Felicia Hardy, sir.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fury seems to study her for a moment before his face softens subtly. The only people to notice it were Peter and Natasha— ever the observers. He then clears his throat and looks back at the team, “And the rest?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In the basement area,” Nat answers, “They’re significantly less stable, but from what we can tell, the base had been active for less than a year. Their triggers should be easily reversed and rehabilitation shouldn’t take long either. Note, you know I suggest discharging them after they pass their psych evaluations—unless they choose otherwise, of course. It’s enough to put them on the list. Not everyone wants to be an agent.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Note taken,” Fury nods and motions for the agents behind him to make their way to the entrance to the ‘basement.’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As they start walking, he scans back over everyone before stopping at Peter. But instead of shrinking in on himself, he actually straightens up, as if daring the director to say something. However, he doesn’t. Fury actually laughs under his breath and nods, not unlike a friendly hello.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It takes Peter aback. Lucky again for the mask, he just stiffly nods back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Turning back to Felicia, Fury gives her a quick run down on what’s going to happen. “You’ll be psychologically evaluated first thing and will continue to be until you’re labeled mentally stable. Until then, you’ll be staying in a padded safe room— just as a precaution. However, if you pass, you’ll be given a dorm in the helicarrier. Don’t worry, they’re actually a lot of people like you here. Albeit, a bit older. You’ll be around people almost all the time, and monitored closely, but don’t let it bother you. You understand the process, yes?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If this was a test, Felicia probably would’ve passed. “Yes, sir.” She really does only seem like an innocent little girl. Fury’s not wrong for taking caution, though. He’s not the director for nothing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Nick nods once again at everyone in the jet, he waves to the agents who are now crowded with the handcuffed mutants from Hydra to follow him. Lastly, he tells Felicia to follow him, as well. However, he stops after a few steps to see that she is not, and is instead looking at Peter. The teen tries to encourage her to go, tries to nonverbally tell her she’ll be safe, but that doesn’t seem to be her problem. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Felicia tells Fury to wait a second, who begrudgingly complies, but stiffens in edge all the same.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Spidey!” She calls as she runs towards him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Nat, Tony, and Clint all look at them weirdly, but the two ignore their questioning glances.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How can I get ahold of you while I’m here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter’s lenses widen on his mask. He awkwardly clears his throat and scratches the nape of his neck before answering, “Um, well. I... I guess I could give you my number. You can call me whenever, really.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Great!” She giggles and reaches for his pocket quickly, making everyone jump for their own belts and pockets. It honestly made Peter a little agitated that they were so set on making her out to be some mad murderer, but his subconscious again understands that they’ve been dealing with untrustworthy Hydra and ex-Hydra agents— like The Winter Solider— for some time. It also does pass his mind that she </span> <span class="s2">was </span> <span class="s1">an assassin, and everything she’s shown him so far </span> <span class="s2"><em>could</em> </span> <span class="s1">be a front.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> Felicia pays them no mind as she fishes his phone out and turns to ask Fury a question: “I </span> <span class="s2">can </span> <span class="s1">have phone calls, right? What number should I give?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Natasha scrunches her eyebrows, “I don’t think—?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Fury cuts her off with a raise of his hand and recites a number. “It’s an encrypted line for room 403. So, I guess that’ll be your dorm, assuming you pass. C’mon, now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He starts walking again, expecting everyone to follow this time. And she does (after typing the number into Peter’s phone and giving it back to him) run after Fury. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They all stay watching them leave until they’re flying off in the Helicarrier. Then Clint turns to Peter, “That was weird, right?” He looks at Natasha next.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Definitely weird. Things must be different at SHIELD nowadays— I’ve never seen him be so... </span> <span class="s2">lenient</span> <span class="s1">.” Natasha answers right before Peter agrees, “Kinda weird, yeah.”</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But he really didn’t mind. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“</span> <span class="s1">So</span> <span class="s2">,</span> <em> <span class="s2"> you’re telling </span> </em> <span class="s1">me</span> <em><span class="s2">, that you had </span> <span class="s1">nothing</span> <span class="s2"> to with what happened that night.”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“That’s right.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">After dropping Felicia off at SHIELD, Peter and the avengers flew back to the tower and chatted for a few minutes before he claimed he had to leave. Natasha didn’t think much of it, Clint thought he had a job or a date to get to, and Tony figured if it really </span> <em><span class="s2">was </span></em> <span class="s1">Peter... maybe there was a problem at the company.</span></p><p class="p1">But it was none of the above.</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter received a text from Max that contained a link, which directed him to a news article about the new drug terrorizing the streets, </span> <em><span class="s2">Dice</span></em><span class="s1">. In the article, it mentioned a first hand witness account which claimed that Deadpool showed up to a site where the drug was being produced, and incapacitated everyone in the warehouse— no fatalities. Although, it went on to explain that </span> <span class="s2"><em>multiple</em> </span> <span class="s1">locations were hit, including the yacht. Everyone was killed </span> <span class="s2">there</span> <span class="s1"> (but not a single missing finger or limb— </span> <span class="s2"><em>damn loophole).</em></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Max also sent another link to a </span> <span class="s2"><em>different</em></span> <span class="s1"> article, reporting four dead bodies found on the corner of West 34th and 33rd Street, and a text saying, ‘... this you?’</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And so, there were two things Peter had to do. One, call Wade. And two, stop by and at </span> <span class="s2"><em>least </em></span> <span class="s1">find a way to explain to Max he’s </span> <span class="s2">not</span> <span class="s1"> a murderer without giving away his identity.</span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“C’mon, Pete. Ya gotta know how it sounds.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter relit his cigarette and cracked his neck, staring Max directly in the eyes, “I only went to go check things out. Outta nowhere, the dealer just shot them all. I </span> <em><span class="s2">know </span></em> <span class="s1">it sounds crazy, but it wasn’t me. I don’t even </span> <em><span class="s2">own</span></em> <span class="s1"> a gun, man.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Max squinted his eyes and scanned Peter’s face for any sign of a lie, and it strangely reminded the latter of a certain curly-haired bookworm. “Alright,” he shrugged, “I believe you. Not that it matters anyway— those guys were dirty and I’ve seen worse on these streets. Hell, some of </span> <em><span class="s2">my</span></em> <span class="s1"> guys have done worse,” he chuckles.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter scrunches his face but decides not to comment. Instead, he relaxes back into the beat-up couch and exhales another cloud of gray smoke.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wanna go on a walk?” Max asked suddenly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“... Why?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max gives him a look then nods his head to their 11 o’clock, where a group of runaways we’re doing a line of coke and betting on that Sunday night football game. And Peter rolls his eyes, but nods anyway. A fresh of breath air would be nice. </span>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The city was dismal but bustling all the same. A ceremony was set earlier in the day, comemberating all the lives lost on this day nineteen years ago, 9/11. There were lanterns lit in front of American flags in allies and all around Manhattan.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s sad, isn’t it?” Max wonders aloud as they stroll past a certain loom of flowers and pictures of a family that were caught in the collateral. “The towers fell, and at the time, nobody thought it could get worse. Then there was the battle of New York, and everything after. There’s a lot of death and unknown around here.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter halts to a stop, causing Max to slow down and look at him. “Not just here; everywhere. And yeah, of course it’s sad, but you and I, and the kids back at the crib— we know that better than anyone. Shit happens.” Peter shrugs, steps closer, and reaches into Max’s pocket, grabbing his box of cigarettes and lighting another one.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max laughs softly and snatches the box back, “Man, I can’t tell if you’re a sociopath or just insane.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Both.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You owe me another box of Marlboro’s. You’ve been smoking a shit ton.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ll go get ‘em now, then.” Peter grins dopily and holds his arms out before spinning on his heel and continuing their walk. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The the little bell on the screen door of Cooper’s jingled as they left the store, carton of cigarettes and a bottle of Hennessy in hand. It was a rough day, rough week, rough life. </span> <span class="s2"><em>And</em>, </span><span class="s1">that particular liqueur shop doesn’t ID.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I can’t </span> <span class="s2"><em>believe</em> </span> <span class="s1">you!” Max cackles and smacks Peter’s shoulder, “you really scored the cashiers number!”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter laughs along and unscrews the cap of the Hennessy, “it’s not like I asked for it,” he shrugs nonchalantly, but you could see the curves of his smirk as he took a sip.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They were bumping into each other and joking around as they turned the corner. But Peter stopped abruptly when he saw a glimpse of a tall girl leaving a record shop and a teenage boy in a red shirt talking animatedly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Quickly, he pulled Max by the wrist back around the corner and pushed him up against the wall, backing up and placing himself in the same position directly after.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter, wha—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>“Shh!”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max closed his mouth so hard Peter could hear his teeth click, but whips his head back around and listened.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘Was the Peter?’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘No way. They’re adults; they had alcohol and were smoking.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was silent for a second and Peter could picture a single sweat droplet running down his face out of nerves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘... are you sure? I could’ve sworn I heard him laugh?’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘It’s not him, MJ. C’mon, how long are you going to keep doing this? He’s back.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was another pause until Peter heard light footsteps starting up again, indicating that the conversation was over. He almost peeked around the corner, until he heard Michelle’s quiet response.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘No, he’s not.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The rest of their walk back to the crib was slightly awkward, as Peter didn’t explain his behavior, or said anything at all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was a block away when Max finally asked, “Who were those peo—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t ask any questions,’ Peter says sternly.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He backs off right away, “... Sorry, man. I know how secretive you are, it’s just...”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter sighs and looks down as Max trails off. He knew what he wanted to say. </span> <em><span class="s2">‘It’s just, I thought we were friends.’</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Old friends,” he gives in.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Meaning, you <em>aren’t</em> anymore?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, we are. Actually, probably closer than ever now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max tilts his head, “So then, why did you hide?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter kicks a rock and puts his hands in his pockets, huffing as he looked around, not wanting to have this conversation. “I didn’t talk to them over the summer. They don’t know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Know what? That you drink? Dude, </span> <em><span class="s2">every </span></em> <span class="s1">teenager does!”</span></p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">“</span></em><span class="s2"><em>No, Max</em>. </span> <span class="s1">They don’t </span> <span class="s2">know </span> <span class="s1">that I have a </span> <em><span class="s2">drug</span></em> <span class="s1"> addiction and spend my time fucking around so I don’t have to get </span> <em><span class="s2">high</span><span class="s1">.”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Max takes a step back and furrows his eyebrows before regaining his composure. “You said you were done with all that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Throwing his head back and sighing again, Peter pinches the bridge of his nose. “I know. I am,” he shakes his head, “I’m sorry, man. I just don’t like talking about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah... yeah, no, I get it.” He offers a tight-lipped smile and a nod of his head in the direction down the street, “C’mon, let’s go.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Extra:</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“What’s that girls name, at least? She’s crazy hot!”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“What!? No! Dude, back off!”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“You’re girlfriend?”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Peter sputtered and blushed “she’s not my girlfriend!</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“So you don’t think she’s hot?”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s2">“Shut up! </span></em><span class="s2">Obviously</span> <span class="s2"><em>she’s</em></span><span class="s1">crazy</span> <span class="s2"><em> hot— but that’s demeaning as fuck. She’s also smart, and independent, talented, and a</em></span> <span class="s2">complete</span> <span class="s2"><em>badass who doesn’t give a shit—“ Max was smirking at him, causing Peter to blush deeper and taze his side, “whatever, let’s just go.”</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“No, I wanna meet them.” Max demands after recollecting himself and swatting Peter’s hand away.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">“No. Like I said, I kept a lot from them and that includes </span> </em> <span class="s1">you</span><em><span class="s1">,” </span> <span class="s2">he pokes Max’s shoulder, “and most of my night life. How would I explain how I met you?”</span></em></p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">“Yeah? Well you keep your </span> </em> <span class="s1">day</span> <em> <span class="s2"> life from </span> </em> <span class="s1">me.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“Which is exactly why I need you guys to stay separate. Now hush, let’s go.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Max reluctantly obliged.</em><br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Was this bad? I still have a little bit of a block but I really wanted to get something out (plus I wrote the first half of this in September and the other half just now aka end of October)</p><p>Also if you’re subbed &amp; just got a ton of notifs, it’s bc I was naming the chapters lol</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Your Old Buddy Osborn’s Back In Town</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 2501<br/>Sooo sorry if u got a million notifs again. For whatever reason, I posted this before editing and now I keep reposting everytime I find a mistake jhtdbklo I’ll stop now lol sry if I missed a ton!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“No. That’s a bad idea. You need to get your mind off things, dude. You need a break. This could be a good thing, and we’re all gonna be there.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Monday mornings always made it just a tad bit harder to get up. But reluctantly, Peter brushed his teeth and hauled his ass to another uneventful day of school. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">It was during second period, AP Calculus BC, when Peter finally zoned out of Mr. Leonard’s description of Simpson’s rule. And because his teacher wanted to be a dick, apparently, he called Peter out on never listening and put him on the spot— asking him to </span> <em><span class="s1">explain it</span> <span class="s1">accurately</span></em> <span class="s2"> if he ‘knew it so well.’</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Which, he did. And so, he did.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“In numerical analysis, Simpson's rule is a method for numerical integration, the numerical approximation of definite integrals. Specifically, it is the following approximation for values bounding equally spaced subdivisions: , where and. Simpson's rule also corresponds to the three-point Newton-Cotes quadrature rule.” There was silence for a moment, before Peter spoke up again, “That’s textbook.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And Mr. Leonard simply nodded his head and rolled his eyes once he turned back to face the board.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Which prompted a few decisions and a few conversations at lunch. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“—Yeah, loser. You’re too stressed out.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter slumps in his chair and picks at his nails, “I’m </span> <span class="s1"><em>so</em> </span> <span class="s2">sick of high school though. Like obviously, I’m not going to completely force graduation by taking the tests, but—“</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“But online MIT classes? </span> <span class="s1"><em>While</em> </span> <span class="s2">in high school? Dude, you’re already,” Ned lowers his voice slightly, “</span><span class="s1"><em>Spider-Man</em>, </span> <span class="s2">own a </span> <span class="s1"><em>company</em>, </span> <span class="s2">and you’re a only junior.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“A party could be good for you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Ned nods at MJ and continues, “We haven’t gone to one since Liz’s. It could be a good de-stressor, and plus, I’m starting to get a little worried we’re never gonna have a ‘normal high school experience.’”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Ned, that’s your mom talking,” Peter shakes his head and let’s out a huff a breath. They don’t even realize a party is </span> <span class="s1"><em>exactly</em> </span> <span class="s2">the kind of environment he should stay away from. He almost rolls his eyes at the sentiment. But... “The whole acadec team is going?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">MJ puts down her book and shrugs, “Yeah. So you can even think of it as a required event to calm our nerves before the competition next week.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“It’s a </span> <span class="s1"><em>big</em> </span> <span class="s2">party though, from what I’ve heard. Other schools will be there— it’s not just midtown nerds. There’ll be alcohol. And drugs. You guys are okay with that?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">And by ‘you guys,’ MJ must’ve thought he meant </span> <span class="s1"><em>her</em></span><span class="s2">, which, he kind of did.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“We’re fine.” She shared a look with Ned, “It’s fine. Just because other people’ll be stupid doesn’t mean </span> <span class="s1">we </span> <span class="s2">have to.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And of course it doesn’t. </span>
</p><p class="p2">But, peer pressure is just as effective when there’s no pressure at all. When instead, all the kids around you are high or drunk, and you get curious, so maybe you try a sip of vodka.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And that’s how Ned Leeds and Betty Brant found themselves drunk off vodka-lemonades in Cobble Hill of the upper east side that week’s Friday night. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">They don’t bother knocking as they arrive at the door. Peter swatted Ned’s hand away from the doorbell and simply walked in, prompting Betty and MJ to follow. Upon entering, the four of them were instantly hit with a wave of the disgusting mixed smell of beer, smoke, and sweat. Not to mention the trashy music blasting through the speakers and plaguing the air just as much as the weed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“MJ!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Through the green lights and murky atmosphere, Cindy Moon emerges from the crowd and pulls Michelle’s hand. And then there were three.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Betty and Ned awkwardly shuffle their feet and look around. Clearly, they didn’t quite know what to do, so with a deep exhale, Peter plasters on his ‘party smile.’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Wanna check the kitchen?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">With nothing better to do, the two nod and follow him on his search for drinks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Think they have pepsi?” Betty nudges Ned’s side, who shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter almost laughs out loud, “Yeah, probably. But only to mix it with Kahlúa.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Ned mouths, ‘what’s that?’ to Betty, and this time, </span> <span class="s1">he </span> <span class="s2">was met with a shrug.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">They bump along past sweaty bodies and dodge drops of alcohol that seemed to be sloshing and splashing everywhere. The house was big, of course, and the kitchen was much harder to find than Peter originally thought. The entrance they came through only led to an open recreational area, and the right he took led them to a game room, where people were playing beer pong on a pool table. Not to mention the </span> <span class="s1"><em>actual</em> </span> <span class="s2">heated pool that was in the room he entered from taking a left. There must’ve been over three hundred people in the mansion alone, and another hundred outside. Because somehow, there was an actual yard despite it being New York City. Peter saw some familiar faces from decathlon meets, who gave him dirty looks, and even some kids he saw once or twice over the summer, who nodded his way. Thankfully, neither Betty nor Ned noticed.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Then finally, the kitchen. It wasn’t packed, but that’s mostly because kids were only stopping in to pour a drink and leaving immediately after. There were a couple teens hanging around on their phone or making out. On the island counter, there was a large array of alcohol. Stacked in a tour were blue and green Smirnoff’s, and in front of it was a range from Jack’s Daniels to Chardonnay. And, what do ya know, Pepsi.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The three of them stood unsure in the doorway, but for different reasons. Betty had never drank before, Ned didn’t want to disappoint his parents, and Peter didn’t want to disappoint Ned. But they shuffled in closer to the island and scanned over its contents one more time. Betty was eyeing the two liter sodas, and she was just about to pick one, before Flash bumped into her— causing Ned to stumble and Peter to steady him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What’s up, freaks?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He was clearly already drunk. Flash was wearing an expensive collared shirt and black jeans, a solo cup dawned in his right hand which contained a clouded pink liquid.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Didn’t think I’d find you losers in </span> <span class="s1"><em>here</em></span> <span class="s2">.” Drunk Flash suddenly comprehended that Peter was there too, and apparently he’d completely gotten over what happened at the start of school, because he poked Peter harshly in his right shoulder. “</span><em><span class="s1">Wow!</span></em> <span class="s2"> Penis is at a </span> <span class="s1"><em>party!</em> </span> <span class="s2">Do you want me to get you a juice box? I think there’s an empty room you can watch some car-cartoons in.” He hiccuped, “But, you’d have to leave if someone knocked. Some people aren’t,” Flash laughed a little at his own joke before finishing it, <em>“</em></span><em><span class="s1">virgins.”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And now, Peter doesn’t normally care what Flash says. And if you asked him, he doesn’t now, either. But that doesn’t stop him from raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms, then steadily grabbing a bottle of Bacardi and chugging about five sallows down— ignoring the burn. Of course, it was only after Flash laughed again, thinking he’d ‘won’ whatever he thought his monologue of a ‘competition’ was.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">He definitely wasn’t laughing now, as Peter wiped his mouth with his sleeve and set the bottle down. Ned and Betty were </span> <span class="s1"><em>shocked</em> </span> <span class="s2">as he met their eyes past Flash’s ugly face.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Peter! Oh my god! That was a lot! Are you gonna be </span> <span class="s1"><em>okay?</em> </span> <span class="s2">What’s the alcohol percentage in that? Damn! Okay, okay. Oh my god!?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Ned, calm down.” Peter laughed, “I’ll be fine.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">Flash, over his surprise, scoffs, “Yeah, right. You’ve probably never drank before— you don’t even go out. I can’t wait to get a video of you puking!” And with that, he pours more Pink Whitney into his cup and saunters off.</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Ned and Betty look at each other, </span> <span class="s1"><em>again</em>, </span> <span class="s2">and shrug. Ned grabs the Bacardi bottle.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Quickly, Peter wraps his hand around his wrist to get him to stop, “Hey, just because I drank it doesn’t mean you have to...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I know. But, I’m curious,” he shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter lets go if his hand and tries not to worry his lip. The other two pour about half a solo cup of Bacardi before going to bring it to their face.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“This smells </span> <span class="s1"><em>awful! </em>Like peroxide!” </span> <span class="s2">Betty scoffs.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah, it is... you shouldn’t drink it straight. Try mixing it with cranberry juice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>“</em></span><span class="s1"><em>You</em> </span> <span class="s2">drank it straight.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Well, yeah, but that’s only... because—“ Peter cuts himself off in astonishment as Ned brings the cup to his lips, taking a sip and sending himself into a coughing fit directly after.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“That shit </span> <span class="s1"><em>burns!</em> </span> <span class="s2">And it tastes like </span> <span class="s1"><em>ass!”</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter chuckled and patted his back, “Yeah, it’s terrible. You guys should join a food network channel— your descriptions are <em>great.” </em>He grabs the cups from the both of them and pours in juice, like he recommended. “Do you guys wanna look around and see if there’s anyone we know?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">After scrubbing his eyes, Ned nods. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Ned had a few vodka lemonades, as suggested by Cindy, who they found chatting with MJ. Betty had a couple too. And now, they were drunkenly making out on a sofa in the game room. MJ’s sitting on the other end of it, ‘reading’ (Peter knows she’s definitely listening in on Charles and Abe’s heated conversation about the number theory). And Peter, well, he’s trying not to be seen by Casey O’Reilly. Which, evidently, didn’t work.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Pete! Oh my god! What’s up, dude?” Casey nudges his shoulder and Peter smiles nicely. “I haven’t seen you around a while— you go on vacation or somethin’?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Not really.” He shrugs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The cold attitude doesn’t deter the familiar face from the summer, “Just as stone-hearted as a I remember.” He laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter casts a nervous look to his friends across the room, but none of them seem to be looking at them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Hey, Macky! Brooke, Jonah! C’mere! Look who I found!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter cringes as Casey points to him. Surely, he’s making a scene. But that must be his imagination, because the music is too loud and everyone is too drunk to care about who this random kid from Midtown knows. </span>
</p><p class="p2">The three that Casey called over turn to the sound of their name, and laugh exasperatedly at the sight of Peter.</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Peter! Hi!” Brooke runs up and hugs him, “it’s been so long! Hey, did you save my number?” She pouts, “You never called.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter clenches his jaw but, nevertheless, accepts the situation. These people never did anything wrong, and he shouldn’t be rude just because he’s embarrassed of the choices he makes. And so, he returns the hug and runs his hair through Brooke’s dyed-blonde hair. “Sorry, Brookie. I’ve been pretty busy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">She pulls away and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, biting her lip. <em>‘</em></span><span class="s1"><em>Oh. Okay, then,’</em> </span> <span class="s2">Peter thinks. Pointedly looking way, he pulls Jonah and Macky into a bro-hug, who seem just as elated to see him as Casey is. </span> <span class="s1"><em>What a mess. </em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yo, let’s play some beer pong!”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Macky nudges Casey’s side, causing him to spill some of his drink, “Dude, you </span> <span class="s1"><em>know</em> </span> <span class="s2">Pete’s gonna wipe the floor with us.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t mind,” Jonah shrugs, “I’m not drunk enough anyways.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And with that, the two go to set up the cups and grab some beers to set on the floor next to the pool table. As Jonah’s pouring the water into each cup, Macky turns to him in an attempt to catch up. </span>
</p><p class="p2">“So, you still seein’ that Ava girl?”</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter chuckles and looks down, “What do </span> <span class="s1"><em>you </em></span> <span class="s2">think?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Macky also laughs, “Thank </span> <span class="s1">god! </span> <span class="s2">I was <em>genuinely</em> scared you’d get with her! I think she’s probably the </span> <span class="s1"><em>only</em></span> <span class="s2"> girl I saw with you </span> <em><span class="s1">twice. </span></em><span class="s2">Damn, she was a </span> <span class="s1">nightmare</span> <span class="s2">.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">With that, Jonah and Casey called the two over, along with Brooke, who was flirting with some guy from Eleanor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Alright, teams?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Almost instantly, Brooke jumps at the opportunity to stand next to Peter, which Macky scoffs at. He opts to watch while Jonah and Casey create a team.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Ten minutes later, they’re burping and complaining about how they’d only gotten one in, losing miserably, and Macky’s laughing his ass off.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">That is, until Flash Thompson made yet another appearance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yo! Penis Parker~”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He and his friends crowd around them with their hands in their lettermen jacket’s pockets. He has a sinister grin on his face, indicating he was clearly up to something.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Macky instantly stops laughing and squares Flash up, “Who’s this joke?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Casey and Jonah aren’t far behind, while Brooke steps back a little to just watch.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“A dumbass from my school.” Peter sighs like he’s bored, nodding at Flash. </span> <span class="s1">It’s already enough that he’s seen him </span> <span class="s2"> <em>once</em> </span> <span class="s1"> tonight, but a second? Now he’s just annoyed. </span></p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s2">“</span><span class="s1">Excuse me?” </span></em> <span class="s2">He makes a move towards Peter, but Macky jots a hand out and pushes him back.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><em>“What’s up?”</em> He spits, stepping forward.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Flash jumps a little and cowers back. And, of course he did. Mack’s six foot three and pretty damn intimidating. One of Flash’s friends, Seymour, actually <em>grimaces</em> and sneakily steps out from behind him to </span> <span class="s1"><em>leave</em>. But, that might be from the recollection of seeing his <em>cousin</em>, Casey, with Peter. </span><span class="s2">The other, Tiny, steps forward and swats Macky’s hand away, but it’s definitely noticeable from the look on his face that he’d lose the fight if one broke out.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">So, to avoid that, Peter goes to stand next to Macky and ask him to leave softly, “Mack, I’ll handle this. Can’t afford to make a scene— I know Casey’s got some on ‘em.” Both boys turn around to look at Casey, who did in fact look ready for a fight or flight response to the situation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">With a huff and a nod, all three boys leave. When Brooke stayed back, Peter nodded at her too, “I’ll catch up with you later, Russo.” And then she leaves too.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Flash stood back in shock once again at the situation. He shouldn’t be surprised, but somehow he is. </span> <span class="s1"><em>Parker drinks? He has friends outside of school? Tough, hardened friends? </em></span><em>What the hell does that Casey guy have on him? </em>His drunken mind couldn’t seem to make sense of it. </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">However, he shakes his and gets back to his point at Peter’s look of impatience. “Did you hear,” he elbows his friend and they laughs together before he continues, “you’re old buddy Osborn’s back in town.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And with that, Flash and his friends simply left. They got a good laugh at the shock on Peter’s face, who suddenly felt dizzy. Whether is the alcohol or not, he’s a little too stunned to know.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Harry?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter looks over to check if his friend are still sitting in the corner, but Charles, Abe, Ned, Betty, and MJ seem to have since long left.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>Harry Osbron?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Looking around the room, as if somehow expecting his old friend who moved away before freshman year would miraculously appear before him, Peter’s dizziness progressed to nausea. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Boom! Intro to Party With Osborn!<br/>Okay but this chapter was kinda all over the place, wasn’t it? Idk what’s wrong w me, could be that it’s 4:14am, but whatever. Lmk if it was super confusing and rushed or whatever. It’s not sooo bad in my opinion— it is it short tho! Sry!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Dudes Fuckin’ Crazy!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>!!!Listen to these songs in order while reading!!!<br/>It’ll help with the atmosphere :) as background music and as the music playing at the party throughout this whole chapter! </p><p>Songs in order:<br/>TRRST - IC3PEAK, ZillaKami<br/>PLEASE DONT GO - Night Lovell<br/>I AM ADDICTED TO DRUGS AND TIRED OF IT - lil darkie<br/>BAD KID- Night Lovell<br/>To the Moon - Brennon Savage, Nedarb<br/>banana pie- lil darkie<br/>D(R)Own - Ghostmane<br/>Look At Me Now - Brennon Savage<br/>White Tee (Alternate Bass Boosted) - CORPSE<br/>Laquer - BONES, Lyson</p><p>I put them in a SoundCloud playlist so you don’t have to search them all too :) lmk if you listened and what you thought! If you liked it, I could recommend songs for every chapter from now on (obvi they won’t be this hard)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 4841</p><p>a lotttt of jumping around in this one, hopefully it’s not too confusing. lmk if it is!</p><p>*** = tw<br/>a description of euphoria and the action of snorting hard drugs</p><p>There’s also a lot more cussing than usual in this one idk why lol</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Playlist: <a href="https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/3nQZLHWHshSdUXJ79">https://soundcloud.app.goo.gl/3nQZLHWHshSdUXJ79</a></span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter found himself becoming friends with abottle of Tito’s. He’s not sure how long he’s been sitting in the kitchen, but he gave up on mixing a long time ago, and is now sipping it straight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">‘<em>You’re a fucking waste of space!’</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘I fucking hate you!’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A couple more shots.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><em>Blood on my hands, blood on my clothes, blood in my hair, blood on my hands</em>.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A few more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em>‘You’re fucking disgusting!’</em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘You’re a murderer!</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><em>Blood on my hands, blood on my clothes, blood in my hair, blood on my hands.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">Giving up on sipping, Peter lifts the bottle and starts chugging. He hadn’t thought about Harry in a long, long time. He tried his best to forget those memories, but they came rushing back in waves at the mention of his old best friends name. </span> <span class="s2"><em>It was so long ago, but it feels like fucking yesterday.</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter stares at the empty bottle dumbly, blinking as if he can’t remember even drinking it. Wondering where it went. Taking a look around, his vision swirls as he comprehends that he’s still in the kitchen.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><em>‘I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.’</em> Harry scoffs, <em>‘You’ve always been a worthless, fucked-up-orphan. You’re </em>fucked <em>in the head, Peter!’</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now, Peter Parker was not a light drinker. All of the sounds of the world blur together but everything he sees seems sharper and vibrant. He used to like being drunk because it took away the filter of grey and emptiness that clouded his mind. He danced better. He flirted better. Girls and guys swooned as they grinded to shitty trap music or when he trailed kisses down their bare torsos in the bedroom. And now, after chugging an entire bottle of Tito’s, he was feeling a particular peak of fucked-up he hasn’t been in a while. And he loved it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Stumbling in attempt to get up, Peter tries to make his way back into the game room. The world looks like one of those trippy Halloween-walks, with the spinning tube that’s almost impossible to walk through. Strobe lights are blinking colors of green and purple, and his vision is lagging so much he can barely see where he’s going. The smell of weed is much thicker now, and Peter thinks he might even be cross-faded, as he remembers the couple smoking in the corner of where he’d been for the last half hour or so. Finally making it to the game room, he finds Casey and the guys again. Who catch his line of sight, and are by his side in a second.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter?” Jonah snaps his fingers in front of Peter’s eyes, who laughs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Damn,” Macky worriedly nudges him, “You’re really gone, man.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter holds up the empty bottle of Tito’s, “th-thaaaank </span> <span class="s2"><em>god!”</em></span> <span class="s1"> He giggles, “Thiz shit tastved too nasty~ fur me to not ve dr-drunk.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Casey makes a face at Macky and Jonah like </span> <em><span class="s2">‘what the fuck did he just say?’</span></em><span class="s1">before actually speaking when he was met with two shrugs, “Do you guys know where he lives?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No idea. He doesn’t say shit about his personal life.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Macky nods in agreement of Jonah’s statement, “It’s not like we can drive anyways.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe he lives close,” Casey suggests, “Hey, Pete. Where you live?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter hiccups and shrugs before laughing again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jonah sighs, “He was with some other people earlier, right? From his fancy smart school?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Casey shakes his head aggressively, “I don’t know, dude. I’m </span> <em><span class="s2">just</span></em> <span class="s1"> now on the come down. Everything’s a blur.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Let’s just get him outside. It’d be embarrassing as fuck to puke in here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I d-don’t vuke, Mack.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Macky breathes out a laugh and starts walking to the glass doors that lead into the backyard, “C’mon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter stumbles again, so Casey grabs his right arm and sets it around his shoulders. Jonah puts a hand on Peter’s back to keep him steady, and the four walk out like that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There’s a fire going in the middle of the yard, which illuminates the kids making out in the grass and the girls in skimpy, sparkly, dresses dancing to the trap music that can still be heard from inside. Beer cans litter the ground along with missing pieces of clothing. There’s got to be at least fifty people outside, but Jonah and Casey find an empty lawn chair to set Peter down in. Mack goes back inside to find a water and maybe some crackers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s only been about fifteen minutes since he chugged the vodka, but his super-metabolism seems to already be burning through it, as Peter’s vision gets clear every time he blinks. He’s still very drunk, but at least a little more coherent. His friends seem to realize this, as they try to start conversation until Macky gets back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jonah smacks Casey’s shoulder, but ultimately gives in as well. “Really, man. What made you drink so hard?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I haven’t seen you like this in months.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And suddenly, Peter felt very snappy. <em>“</em></span><em><span class="s2">What?</span> </em> <span class="s2"> I </span><span class="s1">can’t drink now, either?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Jonah furrows his eyebrows, “We, we never said you couldn’t </span> <span class="s2"><em>drink</em>. </span> <span class="s1">It’s, just, <em>dude</em>. You’re literally carrying an empty bottle of vodka around. What’d you do? Drink it like water?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And if I did?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why’re you getting so defensive? We’re not judging you Pete, we just want to know what the fuck happened!”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter sighs deeply and looks back at the empty bottle in his hands. </span> <em><span class="s2">Why </span></em> <span class="s1">am </span> <span class="s2"><em>I still holding this?</em> </span> <span class="s1">He chucks it over his shoulder and turns back to his friends, feeling pretty guilty. They just got him to a safe spot and Mackys out looking for something to help him sober up. “Sorry.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a tense silence for a second.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, you’re really not gonna say?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter rolls his eyes at Jonah, unable to hold it in. “It’s nothing, really.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It got anything to do with that dick from your school?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter hesitates, and that seems to be all Casey needs to start pushing his sleeves up and getting ready to run back inside.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Sit </span> <em><span class="s2">down, </span></em><span class="s1">Case. It’s not that serious. This kid I used to be friends with is back in town, and probably </span> <em><span class="s2">here. </span></em> <span class="s1">That’s all.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Casey sits back down, “That’s all?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Told you it wasn’t serious.” Peter rolls his eyes and looks down at his hands, wishing he had another drink in them as he sobers from black-out drunk to tipsy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just then, Macky comes back with a water bottle and a pack of saltines, which Peter simply sets to the side after taking a single sip from the water.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just went over it, Mack. Apparently some kid Pete used to know is here and he’s, like, freaking out over it for some reason.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">“</span><span class="s2">Peter? </span></em> <span class="s1">Freaking <em>out?”</em> Macky snorts in disbelief and sits down in the grass next to the other two. “Story time!”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jonah hits Mack now, but again, didn’t really mean it as he looks at Peter hopefully.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The drunk teenager pinches the bridge of his nose. </span> <span class="s2"><em>What the fuck.</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It ended badly. He moved away before freshman year. And yeah, that was a long time ago, which is why I said it was stupid. It’s not over nothing though. A lot of shit went down.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Is this the same as a once upon of time?” Jonah wiggles his eyebrows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut the fuck up, Müller,” Peter laughs, “That’s it really.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Macky pouts, “Man, I came for a </span> <span class="s2"><em>story time,” </em></span> <span class="s1">and then gasps, “Oh my god! Were you guys </span> <span class="s2">dating? </span> <span class="s1">Because that would make a lot of sense—“</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter swats his friend and gags, <em>“</em></span><span class="s2"><em>Fuck</em>, </span> <span class="s1">Mack! I’m still drunk! You </span> <span class="s2"><em>want</em> </span> <span class="s1">me to throw up?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well then what could be so bad that you nearly drink yourself to alcohol poisoning?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter sighs </span> <span class="s2"><em>again</em>, </span> <span class="s1">and with the blankest face he can manage at the moment, “I killed his dad.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And once more, silence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then all three boys listening started laughing wildly.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>“Shit!</em> </span> <span class="s1">You </span> <span class="s2"><em>almost</em> </span> <span class="s1">had me!”</span></p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s1">“</span><span class="s2">Dude,” </span></em> <span class="s1">Casey cracks up, “How do you keep your face straight like that?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Jonah wipes a single tear from his eye, “You could <em>totally </em>be a hit-man man we wouldn’t know. You’re not a hit-man, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Peter, he laughs along.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They don’t have to know he was serious. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Macky and Jonah left not that much later. Apparently, they got a last minute invite to a party in college city. So with promises to catch up again soon, the two left Peter and Casey to their own devices.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">So when Casey stepped away to take a call, Peter got back up to wonder around and look for the decathlon team. It’s been a couple hours, and the last time he saw Ned, he was making out with Betty drunk as fuck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He caught Casey’s attention by pointing at the doors leading inside, and got a nod of acknowledgement in return.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And with that, Peter was back inside to face the lights and music full force. Everyone seemed to get sloppier as the night went on. A couple kids were skinny dipping in the pool room with the lights off, exempt of the green led light pouring in occasionally. Some girls were passed out on the floor, and Peter </span> <span class="s2">would </span> <span class="s1">wake them up, but opted to just take a spot on the couch and watch instead. MJ and Cindy are bound to come through at some point.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulled out his phone and scrolled through tiktok for a little while, glancing up at the scene in front of him every few minutes. After about twenty minutes, Peter realized he had a few texts.</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><strong>Acadec<br/></strong> <em>Sally Avril, MJ, Ned Noodle, Flash Dash, Cindy, Betty Boop, &amp; 3 more</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <strong>Abe</strong> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">I’m leaving. Stay safe guys. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"><br/></span> <span class="s1"> <strong>Cindy</strong> </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">bye abe !</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong><br/>Sally Avril</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">me and jason are probs calling an uber soon too</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <br/>
  <strong>MJ</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong>👀</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong><br/>Sally Avril</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">not like that!!! eW</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong><br/>Jason</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">rude</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s1"><br/>Cindy</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1"> <span class="s3">👩🦯</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">+20 messages </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <strong>Ned</strong>
</p><p class="p1">Where’d you go?<br/><em><span class="s1">10:31pm</span></em></p><p class="p2">
  <strong>Peter</strong>
</p><p class="p2">game room<br/><em>12:15am</em></p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <strong>Mack Fischer</strong> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Don’t drive urself home<br/></span> <em> <span class="s1">12:04am</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s1">Peter</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1"><strong> <span class="s1">👍<br/></span> </strong> <em> <span class="s1">12:15am</span> </em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><hr/><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, Parker. Been a while.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter jumps at the new voice, nearly dropping his phone. Substances lower his senses significantly. Looking up, Peter feels his stomach drop. He can’t figure out </span> <em><span class="s2">why </span></em> <span class="s1">he’s so anxious, but clears his throat to speak up and try to hide it as much as possible.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yeah, I-,” </span> <em><span class="s2">What the hell am I supposed to say? </span></em> <span class="s1"> Last time he spoke with Harry, the guy hated his guts. “Hi.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harry sighed. “Listen,” he started, looking down and shifting his feet, “I’m just gonna go straight into it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter silently nods as a ‘go-ahead.’</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know we left things pretty bad,” Harry starts, “And I know you probably hate me for saying all those awful things to you— but I’m truly sorry. And I’m better now.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">Peter stared at him for a long time. </span><em> <span class="s2">‘Pretty bad,’ </span></em> <span class="s1">was an understatement. Harry had cracked back then. He was completely blinded by his grief. Finding out his father was Green Goblin is one thing, but the anger and betrayal that came with it was a whole other. What Harry didn’t understand was that Norman had been </span> <span class="s2"><em>sick</em>. </span> <span class="s1">Mentally <em>ill</em>. He had accidentally killed himself in an attempt to kill </span> <span class="s2"><em>Peter</em>. </span> <span class="s1">But to Harry, it was all Spider-Man’s fault and he’d stop at nothing to avenge Norman. He grew up trying to please his father, and when he was gone, maybe Harry felt like vengeance was the last thing he could do to try and </span> <span class="s2"><em>finally</em></span> <span class="s1"> make him proud. It was fucked, but suddenly, nothing mattered but his vendetta. And when he learned that the man he thought he hated was actually his best friend, everything came crashing down. Harry had called Peter many things. A liar, a mistake, a disgusting mutant, and the list goes on</span> <span class="s2">. </span> <span class="s1">Peter tried to make him understand, he tried to help, but Harry rejected him and left a couple of days later. He hadn’t said goodbye to him or Gwen or anyone, and didn’t say where he was going. Peter hadn’t seen him since. So, Harry now standing in front of him, after so long, was nothing short of chilling.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t hate you. I never hated you, Harry,” Peter sighed and scrunched his eyes shut for a moment before continuing, “I’m glad you’re better now.” The music suddenly felt like a pulsating headache in his ears; too loud.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You understand loss. I know that now, and I knew it then. I- I just needed someone to blame.” It seemed like Harry was genuinely disappointed in his past self. “I was hoping... well, I’m back for now. And I was hoping we could start over.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter studied him. Harry was wearing distressed jeans that had a new beer stain on them, and a button up Hawaiian shirt. His right hand held a Smirnoff, but it was only half gone and Peter knew he hadn’t been there long enough to be drunk (if all he’s had are beers and ales). He was shuffling like he was nervous, but his shoulders were squared in an attempt to seem confident. Although, it was his face that gave everything away. He really </span> <span class="s2">did </span> <span class="s1">regret his past actions... but he could probably care less about rekindling a friendship from his childhood. Peter saw it. Harry was different than when he met him, and he was different than when he left— he was someone new. Just like Peter.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The uneasiness from before melted away for no apparent reason, leaving Peter just, well, kinda pissed. He looks down at his shoes, and raises his head again to meet Harry’s eyes with a completely different expression. Calm, cool, and dangerous.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Sure, we can start over,” Peter answered, and despite the friendly words, there was a venomous sarcasm woven through each letter. Peter wanted him to know they were </span> <span class="s2">both </span> <span class="s1">different. He didn’t take bullshit anymore, and he wasn’t going to let Harry try. “I’ll you see you around.” And like that, Peter went to go find MJ with a roll of his eyes.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Well, that was anticlimactic.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Harry was a little stunned, stuck starting at the spot on the couch where Peter had just been. </span> <span class="s2"><em>What just happened?</em> </span> <span class="s1">The Peter he remembered was bubbly and naive. It’s been about three and a half years, and that seemed liked nothing at first. They’re still in school, after all. But, maybe... Harry was wrong? </span> <span class="s2"><em>What the fuck?</em> </span> <span class="s1">Peter seemed like the normal, nervous kid he always knew for a second, and then he witnessed three emotions he had never seen on him before in less than a minute. And... </span> <em><span class="s2">he fucking reeked of alcohol.</span></em></p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter was drinking Jack Daniels now. The conversation with Harry killed the last of his buzz, and he was in desperate need of way to relax. This was supposed to be a night for the team to </span> <span class="s2"><em>unwind</em>,</span> <span class="s1"> but so far it’s only been one thing after the next, and Peter can’t quite keep up. It’s probably around two in the morning now, and his vision was finally starting to blur again as a girl danced against him in the opening room. But, he needs more. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>What a fucking night.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">There was the stress of seeing his friends from the summer in the same room as his friends from Midtown, there was the almost-fight with Flash, there was Harry, and then... then there was </span> <em><span class="s2">Harry and MJ.</span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em>Peter couldn’t believe his eyes.</em>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">Michelle Jones. That </span> </em> <span class="s1">was </span> <em> <span class="s2">Michelle Jones, right? Pushed up against the wall? Making out with his childhood frenemy? That </span> </em> <span class="s1">was</span> <em> <span class="s2"> Harry Osborn, wasn’t it? Sliding his hands up and down her body, running his fingers through her hair? Biting her ear? Was that MJ? Letting out those needy breathes? Pushing her leg up between his thighs? Kissing his neck?</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Peter felt dizzy. Again. But, he couldn’t stop watching. He thought he must be on something. Because, was that really, Harry and Michelle? Is he seeing it correctly, through the crowd of dancing teenagers and nauseating lights?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><em>Finally, he diverted his eyes to the floor, only</em> t<em>o see the reflection of the scene he was trying to pull himself away from in a puddle of Bacardi on the concrete. He looked back up, wildly scanning his eyes around his surroundings.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">And he met eyes with Casey, who had apparently gotten off the phone some time ago.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Then, he gagged again. Fully bodily.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">He could feel the bile settle in the back of his throat, threatening to come all the way up as he stared at the same puddle on the ground. His curled were matted to his forehead with sweat, this eyes looked tired as hell, and a permanent blush dusted across his cheeks.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"><em>And when he stood back up, Casey was right in front of him, reaching a hand out for his</em> <em>shoulder. But Peter could see Harry and Michelle going back inside, and then making their way up the stairs. And he was losing it. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Why was he losing it?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Dude, are you oka—“</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“I need some.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em><span class="s2">Casey visibly recoiled</span> <span class="s1">, </span> <span class="s2">bringing his hand back to his side before it even reached Peter. He was at a loss of words for a moment, “You mean... Pete, I’m not supposed to—“</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Fuck that. C’mon.”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Shaking his head, “But you said not—“</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“<em>I </em></span><span class="s1">know </span><em><span class="s2">what I </span></em><span class="s1">said</span><em><span class="s1">, </span> <span class="s2">Case! Listen to what I’m saying </span></em><span class="s1">now</span><em><span class="s1">. </span></em> <span class="s2"><em>I’m not kidding.” Peter raised his</em> <em>voice and stood up all the way to convey his urgency. “Please, man.”</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>And it must’ve worked, because he could pinpoint the exact moment that Casey gave up. “Jesus,” he sighed and ran a hand through his black hair, looking around. “Alright, look. I gotta see someone else, first. But, meet at the front in a few. Alright?”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And that was about fifteen minutes ago. The Jack wasn’t enough.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The blond he’s with was now advancing even further, from dancing on him to turning around and lacing her fingers behind his neck, pulling Peter into to face her and out of his thoughts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“If you space out again, I might just think you’re not into me.” She breathed into his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And with nothing better to do while he waits, Peter closes the space between them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He doesn’t even know her name. But he’s about six inches taller than her and he’ll be damned if she’s not attractive as fuck. </span>
</p><p class="p2">He almost feels guilty. Drunk for the second time in a night, making out with a girl he doesn’t know, waiting on Casey to meet him in the bathroom— wasn’t he over this?</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She’s breathing harshly now, and Peter’s comes back to the present to find himself kissing her neck and slightly pulling her hair at the roots. She’s whispering to nothings to him, but he doesn’t care to interpret what she’s saying.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How did he get here, with her, again?</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“Get the fuck off!”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Peter snaps his attention from the outside doors to a girl wearing a tiny red dress. There’s a guy in front of her, reaching out to feel the ends of her hair. He’s a tall brunette, and very very drunk.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">She’s pushes him away with both her hands, making him trip over his feet a little. When he catches himself, he harshly pats his jeans and pulls his jacket tighter, before raising his voice. “What the hell is wrong with you!?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">“What’s wrong with </span> </em> <span class="s1">me? </span> <em> <span class="s2">I told you to back off!”</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">“As if you’re not asking for it! Look at what you’re fucking wearing! If you’re gonna dress like a whore, what the fuck do you expect?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>The girl wraps her arms around herself, and looks around.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>And that was all Peter needed to see before stepping in. Without thinking, he stomps forward and pushes the guy when he moves to advance again.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em><span class="s2">“And who the fuck are </span> <span class="s1">you?</span> <span class="s2"> Her boyfriend?”</span></em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“Shouldn’t fucking matter asshole,” Peter lowered his voice to a dangerous calm, “She told you to back the fuck up.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>The asshole, as Peter named him, attempts to tower over him, “And what’re you gonna do about it?”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>When Peter stayed silently seething, trying his hardest to not take his frustrations from the night out on the bitch in front of him, Asshole </em> <em>chuckled like he won. He made a move like he was going to leave, but double back and swung a fist at Peter.</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Who dodged, and punched the guy in the face— holding back his super-strength completely, of course. Not that it mattered, the alcohol in his system dulled his powers substantially.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">When Asshole caught his footing, he got a shot in on Peter, who gained his composure quickly and hit the man again, this time, harder.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">And with that, he gave up rather easily. “Whatever, man,” he huffed, and with a wave of his free hand (the other was realigning his jaw) he walked away.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Peter let out a deep breath.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“You didn’t have to do that.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>He turned around to see the girl in the red dress. “I know.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>She giggled, “King.”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“No. Guys shouldn’t be praised for doing something they’re expected to do. Besides, I didn’t do that totally for you. No offense, but I just wanted to blow off some steam. I’m not a good person, that guy was just trash.” Peter shakes his head and turns away, but the girl grabs his hand and asks if he’d sit with her for a drink. He was about to say no, he’s past that one-night-stand phase, but then he thinks about MJ and Harry, and suddenly he finds himself following that girl to the kitchen. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And now she’s letting out wispy breathes in his ear. It was probably about to go further, until Peter felt himself getting pulled away by the back of his collared shirt.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The girl blinked a few times before Casey spoke up, “Sorry. I need to borrow him.” Then he leans in, “You don’t wanna go home with this dick anyway. He won’t call you,” he fake-whispered. He turned to Peter, “</span>Bro, what happened to your face? You get in a fight?”</p><p class="p2">Peter rolled his eyes and smacked the back of Casey’s head, before lazily waving to red-dress-girl as he walked away. “Forget about it.”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They walked in a silence for all of two seconds, “Are you really sure you wanna do this man? Everyone says you’re clean.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Do I look like I fucking care?” Peter says seriously as they push open the door to the surprisingly empty bathroom around the corner. “My</span> <em><span class="s2"> I-think-crush</span></em> <span class="s1"> is fucking my </span> <em><span class="s2">I-think-old-friend</span></em> <span class="s1"> upstairs right now. I could care less.” Peter blinks at his own sentence. <em>What did I just called MJ?</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">***<br/></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Casey doesn’t say anything, and instead reluctantly holds out a little baggy for Peter to take after locking the door. He snatches it before Casey can pull it away, and pulls out his wallet immediately to hand him ninety dollars. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Then without wasting any time, Peter pours some out onto the bathroom counter and starts creating a couple lines with his credit card.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You’re gonna do it </span> <em><span class="s2">right now?”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The fuck did ya think I meant?” He responds, leaning down and snorting a line without any hesitation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The burn is familiar and transfixing. It smells like flowers and gasoline, and Peter can already feel his throat, nose, and mouth starting to numb. He takes a moment to lean his head back and sniffle a few times, before going back down and snorting two more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dude! Slow down! It’s been a while, you’re gonna fuckin overdose if you keep goin’ like that!” Casey pulls on Peter’s shoulder, forcing him up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He closes his eyes and relishes in the euphoric feeling he hasn’t had since the summer, and with a deep breath, he couldn’t help but smile widely as he exhaled. It was like a rush of fresh air despite it being the literal opposite. He wipes his nose and sniffles more, then laughs and let’s his head roll a little bit. Suddenly, Peter wipes the smile off his face and stares seriously at Casey— then goes back down to snort the last line.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>“Peter!”</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Shut up, man. I’m fine.” He puts the baggy in his jacket pocket and unlocks the door, opening it up and bowing for Casey.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The other rolls his eyes and steps out. “Alright, well, you got your fix. I gotta go now.” Casey stops before the corner leading back to the opening and turns around. “But seriously, </span> <span class="s2"><em>slow down.</em> </span> <span class="s1">I know you have this whole suicide-mission thing goin’ on, and not to sound like a snowflake, but me and the guys </span> <span class="s2"><em>genuinely</em></span> <span class="s1"> care about you. Don’t fuck up. Call me if you need a ride home.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter leans a hand against the wall and crosses one leg over the other in a lax position. “I got it, Case. Thanks. But really, I’m fine. You can go.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Casey shakes his head but keeps his mouth shut, shooting a wave like Peter gave the blond and leaving.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Peter goes back to the bathroom. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>Is that</em> </span><span class="s1">Peter Parker</span><span class="s2">?</span> <em><span class="s2">He looks high as fuck</span></em><span class="s2">.</span></p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s2">He looks </span></em> <span class="s1">hot </span> <em><span class="s2">as fuck.</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>How is that the same guy we go to school with?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter was dancing again. He thinks. He knows his eyes are crazy dilated— he saw in a mirror earlier, whenever </span> <span class="s2">that</span> <span class="s1"> was. He remembers being at the pool table at some point. He might’ve done a line there too with some girl. Looking to his right, he realizes he’s still with her, and it’s red-dress-girl of all people. He should really learn her name.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">His clothes are soaked. </span><span class="s2"><em>Oh, I was in the pool. </em></span> <span class="s1">He’s kissing red-dress again, but he’s pushing her up against a door this time. A flash of MJ and Harry enters his mind, but the girl’s breathy stutters cancel it out instantly.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">Who’s that girl? Is she from Midtown?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">I don’t think so.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">No way this is what Peter’s like on the weekend!</span></em>
</p><p class="p2">*** </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="u"> <strong> <span class="s4">4:16am</span></strong></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><br/>“Ned, has Peter texted you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Ned turns around from his game of pool to find MJ with </span> <span class="s2"><em>Harry Osborn</em>. </span> <span class="s1">“Wha— aren’t you—?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I own Oscorp, whatever. Have you seen him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um...” Ned shakes his head, letting worry creep in and cancel his astonishment momentarily at the question, “No, I haven’t. Why? Is something wrong?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">MJ shrugs, “He probably went home then.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, he’d text me if he did.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter‘s missing?” Betty speaks up.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Not really </span> <em><span class="s2">missing</span></em><span class="s1">, but should we ask around?” Harry intercepts.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Ned looks at him weirdly. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Why this heck is Harry Osborn here?</em> </span> <span class="s1">Then looks between him and MJ. Her hairs messed up, his shirts unbuttoned, and... </span> <span class="s2"><em>oh</em>. </span> <span class="s1">“Oh, my god! You two—!”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But MJ is already rolling her eyes and walking towards a couple of guys sitting on a couch on the other side of the huge game room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you seen Peter? He’s about my height, kinda nerdy, was probably playing games on his phone in like a secluded corner or something?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ned chuckles at MJ’s exaggerated description but looks at the two guys expectantly. Harry also laughed, but it sounded a little more condescending— if a laugh like that existed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know a guy like that, sorry.” One guy answered, who MJ named Chad 1, while the other is Chad 2.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chad 2 chuckled and clinked his beer with Chad 1 before taking a sip. “Would a guy like that be here in the first place?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">MJ rolls her eyes again, and Betty runs her fingers through a very uncomfortable Ned’s hair. Harry still looks smug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But a girl who’d been listening in speaks up, “Does he have brown hair and a black jacket?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I think he was wearing that. White shirt under, black ripped jeans?” Ned hopes.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yeah! Crazy hot? Did like a ton of drugs then left with a </span> <em><span class="s2">blonde girl?”</span></em><span class="s1"> She said the last part kind of agitatedly.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harry laughs under his breath, “Never mind, doesn’t sound like him at all. Thanks, though.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They turn to leave again before the Chad 2 speaks up, this time more interested in the conversation.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Oh, yeah! You said Peter, right? Are you thinking of Peter </span> <em><span class="s2">Parker?”</span> </em><span class="s1"> The three snap their attention to him, “Brooke’s right. He left with some girl not too long ago.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Chad 1 weirdly finishes Chad 2’s thoughts again, “What you mean that don’t sound like him? Wouldn’t ‘spect nothin’ different! Dudes fuckin’ crazy!” He laughed and high-fived his friend. “Haven’t seen him around recently, but he went just as hard tonight as I remember from the summer.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yeah,” the girl, Brooke, huffs, “He’s </span> <span class="s2"><em>exactly </em></span> <span class="s1">the same.” She looks down then rolls her eyes, blowing her bangs out of her face and taking a sip of a Redd’s Wicked Apple.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Ned and MJ look each other with furrowed eyebrows, then at Betty, who looked just as confused. Harry’s train of thought was just a constant loop of <em>‘what the fuck?’</em> as he thought back to the weird interaction he had with Peter earlier.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The four of them decide to leave then, but not before MJ sends a short and simple text. <br/></span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <b>MJ</b>
</p><p class="p1"><b></b>Where the fuck are you?<br/><em>4:27am</em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Peter just keeps getting more and more out of character lmaoo</p><p>Also did y’all know I’m a 17 yr old girl? Did I say that? Idk what’s up lol ✨ meet the author ✨</p><p>It’s 5:38am I gotta go tf to bed<br/>update: apparently I was editing FOR SO LONG bc it’s now 7:10am pls god let me sleep </p><p>Ik there’s more typos but I’m leaving them fuck it</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Hey. What’s With All The Yelling?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 4412<br/>Ope<br/>Ya caught me<br/>Imma a liar hehe here’s a new chapter a month late 🙃<br/>Sorry but it’s a filler!<br/>(And I didn’t proofread sooo uh typos galore most likely)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter blinks awake.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s still pitch black outside, which means it can’t be later than six in the morning. He remembers seeing red-dress-girl out, then crashing immediately after.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Turning his head, Peter squints his eyes to read </span> <span class="s2"><em>5:41am</em> </span> <span class="s1">on his nightstand-clock. Then, with a groan, he tries to sit up.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Only to grab his head and lay back down right after. His head is pounding and it feels like it’s</span> <span class="s1">going to </span><span class="s2"><em>crack</em> </span><span class="s1">open.</span><span class="s1">Peter sits back up, slower this time, before getting out of bed completely and scooping a hoodie off his floor to put it on. </span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Starting his walk to the kitchen, the hallway lights start turning on, as if his apartment is waking up as well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘Good morning, Peter. It is Saturday the seventeenth and currently 54 degrees outside. You seem to have some symptoms of veisalgia. Would you like me to dim the lights?’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“It’s a </span> <em><span class="s2">hangover,</span></em><span class="s1"> Karen,” Peter corrects and rubs his temples, “and yes, please dim the lights. And your volume.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">The lights turn down to a low glow, and Karen indeed answers in a quieter voice,</span> <span class="s2"><em> ‘You have three missed calls from Ned, two from Betty, one from an unsaved number, four messages from Ned, one from the unsaved number, and one message from MJ. The ‘AcaDec group chat’ was also active last night. Would you like me to read them or return any calls?’</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s the asscrack of dawn; I can’t call anyone right now.” Peter sighs again and opens his fridge in search for something greasy he can make for breakfast. “When was the last time I went grocery shopping? There’s literally nothing in here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘You last visited the Westside Market on September 3rd.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter throws his head back and groans, before walking over to his coat rack and throwing a jacket on. But before he reaches the door, he backtracks, “Wait, what does the text from the unsaved number say?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘It was a New York number, and the message read, ‘Did you go home? This MJ girl is looking for you.’ It was sent at 4:10am.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">His head throbs once again thinking back to the night before. </span> <em><span class="s2">Harry. Harry and MJ. Why the fuck does he have my number? Did he seriously just call her ‘this MJ girl’? </span></em><span class="s1">Peter clenches his jaw.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And suddenly, he doesn’t want to be alone for breakfast. </span> <em><span class="s2">But who would be up this early?</span></em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tony Stark is not having a good night. Or is it technically morning now? He huffs and tosses a wrench at his messy lab table, wiping the motor oil off his hands and onto his jeans.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">He takes a moment to breathe, putting his hands on his hips and staring out at the large window showcasing the city that never sleeps. </span> <em><span class="s2">At least I’m not alone in it. </span></em> <span class="s1">Although, </span> <span class="s2">most</span> <span class="s1"> people haven’t been up for over thirty hours, he guesses.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sun isn’t up yet, but the sky is just a few shades lighter than navy. The moon would probably still be visible if it weren’t for the light pollution. However, Tony couldn’t imagine anything other than the New York City lights.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Dum-E beeps then, whirring and speeding around, leading him to run into U, who tips over. Both robots beep even wilder.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>“God, can I ever catch a break?”</em> </span> <span class="s1">Tony mutters under his breath before raising his voice, “Hey! Dumbass! What’s your problem now?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He starts storming over, causing Dum-E to circle U before zig-zagging across the lab in panic.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Do you </span> <span class="s2">want </span> <span class="s1">the dunce hat—!”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">But before Tony can reach the little bot, his phone starts ringing. And once again, he sighing deeply in frustration. “You’re lucky,” he points menacingly to Dum-E, who beeps as if to say </span> <span class="s2"><em>‘Me?’</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Turning on his heel, the hysterical sleep-deprived man speed-walks to his phone and picks it up, pausing a second when he sees the caller ID.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So what’s up, kid?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you mean?” Peter tilts his head, playing dumb as he shoved a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tony Stark runs a hand down his face and rolls his eyes. “For someone who spent </span> <em><span class="s2">half</span></em> <span class="s1"> of their life in a hangover, I know what one looks like.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“<em>What~?</em> </span> <span class="s1">Pssht, I’m not </span> <em><span class="s2">hungover.”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They’re at a hole-in-the-wall cafe downtown. Tony didn’t bother with the hat and sunglasses, as it’s too early on a Saturday for lots of people to be out, and the cafe is normally unpopulated. He suggested this one specifically when Peter randomly called that morning.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Then you wanna explain the </span> <em><span class="s2">three</span></em> <span class="s1"> omelets, pancakes, biscuits and gravy, and pound of bacon?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Hey! It’s only </span> <em><span class="s2">six </span></em> <span class="s1">pieces of bacon, stop exaggerating.” Peter points his fork at Tony with a scowl, then breaks into a small laugh, “I’m a growing boy,” he shrugs.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tony picks at his own breakfast for a second, “So you woke me up to lie to me over a fuck ton of food then?,” he raises an eyebrow, “</span><span class="s2"><em>you’re</em> </span> <span class="s1">getting the bill, you little shit.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“We both know you were already up, and you’re a </span> <span class="s2"><em>billionaire!” </em></span></p><p class="p2"><span class="s1">“And <em>you’re</em></span><span class="s1">a little </span> <em><span class="s2">shit.”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter opens his mouth to respond, but slumps back in his chair, “Point taken.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Another second passes before Peter releases a breath, knowing Mr. Stark wasn’t going to let it go. “Yeah, yeah. I’m hungover.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Jeez, you’re making me start to think Rhodes was right. And I </span> <em><span class="s2">hate </span></em> <span class="s1">admitting when he’s right.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Right about what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re just like me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm,” Peter starts, “how so?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Tony shifts to get in a more comfortable position, “I got five,” then raises his right hand, “You’re a genius,” he puts a finger down, “You own a company,” another, “You’re a </span> <em><span class="s2">sarcastic asshole,” that</span> </em><span class="s1"> finger goes down slowly, pointedly, “And a girl came home with you last night, as did one every night with </span> <span class="s2"><em>me</em></span> <span class="s1"> when </span> <span class="s2"><em>I</em></span> <span class="s1"> was seventeen.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t even start. You smell like Dior J’adore.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter scrunches up his face. “Maybe I just like Dior J’adore,” He tries. But when Tony raises his eyebrows in disbelief, Peter gives in with a sag of his shoulders. “You’re weird for knowing what perfume she was wearing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Tony shrugs, Peter crosses his arms and leans back in his chair again, “And what’s the fifth?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But with question, Tony smirks wickedly, as if he’d been hoping Peter would ask that the whole time. “The fifth...” he pauses.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Stop being so </span> <em><span class="s2">dramatic</span></em><span class="s1">, dickhole.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What can I say? I have a flare for the dramatic.” He scrunches his own face up, similar to how Peter did moments before, then finally comes out with it. “Your super-suit has red on it too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">It’s too fucking early for this. </span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Was Peter’s immediate thought. Which was weird to him, because, when Natasha showed she knew, he though he was going </span> <em><span class="s2">pass out. </span></em> <span class="s1">But, right now, he’s...</span> <span class="s2"> calm.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">But that doesn’t mean he can’t mess with the old dope. “My </span> <em> <span class="s2">what? </span> </em> <span class="s1">How long has it been since you last slept, again?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Don’t bullshit me, Parker.” Tony squints, “I </span> <em><span class="s2">know </span></em> <span class="s1">you’re Spider-Man.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Whoa! </span> <span class="s2"><em>Spider-Man</em>, </span> <span class="s1">huh? Ha, <em>yup</em>, that’s me! Spider-Man!” He answers, voice practically </span> <span class="s2">drowning </span> <span class="s1">in sarcasm.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The older sits biting his tongue, staring at Peter as if waiting for him to give in. Then suddenly, he sits back and changes the subject, much to Peter’s surprise. “So how’s the company doing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter eyes him suspiciously before shrugging and dipping his hashbrowns in some ketchup, “Alright, I guess. Adam reported that R&amp;D’s working on something new, stocks are up, Mattwent to a board meeting and </span> <em><span class="s2">barely </span></em> <span class="s1">got by because he didn’t understand my notes... normal stuff.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Murdock? He’s an interesting guy, isn’t he?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>Shit</em>. </span> <span class="s1">“Uh, yeah. He’s a really good lawyer.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Mhm. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Impressive</em>, </span> <span class="s1">too.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah... doesn’t let anything get him down. In the courtroom.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yep...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was an awkward silence before Tony spoke up again, “So how’s Felicia?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Grateful for the out again, Peter answers quickly, “Not sure, actually. She hasn’t called.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">oh fuck.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“AH HA!” Tony gets up from his seat and points at Peter, who already let his head drop to the table with a thud. “Got you!” Multiple people look over, but what with it being New York, no one cares long enough to notice who it was, being so loud.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Damnit, Tony. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Hangover</em>, </span> <span class="s1">remember?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Maybe instead of </span> <span class="s2">me</span> <span class="s1"> lowering my voice, you just </span> <em><span class="s2">shouldn’t </span></em> <span class="s1">drink.” He smirks, calming back down, “slows your brain down.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter lifts his head a little bit off the table to glare at the gloating man.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">So, naturally, Tony continues rubbing it in, “I </span> <em><span class="s2">knew</span></em> <span class="s1"> it,” he cackles, “I had a feeling ever since you told Sam you’re ‘not that young’ on that rooftop. You really </span> <em><span class="s2">should </span></em> <span class="s1">put in a voice modulator.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, well...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No excuses. You’re stupid for that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I thought I was a genius?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I take it back. We don’t have that in common.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"><br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter gets back home at 8 o’clock, going straight to the bathroom to take a shower, letting his thoughts really drift for the first time since waking up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">While Tony mentioned a lot of things he knew that morning, Peter was just glad he didn’t mention the shaking— if he even noticed.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Because Peter </span> <em><span class="s2">is </span></em> <span class="s1">shaking. He’s sluggish, irritable, tired, and his nose won’t stop running.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s still on the comedown.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And now he’s once again alone (because Tony had a meeting that Pepper was forcing him to go to) in his big apartment.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And he </span> <span class="s2"><em>knows</em> </span> <span class="s1">the only thing to fix it fast is to take more, but... </span> <em><span class="s2">Do I really wanna get stuck in that cycle again?</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After drying off, Peter drags his feet back to his room, crashes onto the bed, and tries not to think of the guilt pooling in his stomach.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">How could I be so stupid?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Just like when he woke up, Peter turns his head towards his nightstand again. But instead of looking at the clock, he reaches for the face-down picture frame.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“<em>I’m sorry, Gwen. I’m a piece of shit,” </em></span> <span class="s1">he whispers to the picture. It was one that her dad took. They were at MoMA. He had an arm around her waist, pulling her close to his side; she was putting up bunny-ears behind his head, and they both had huge smiles on their faces. And Peter remembers Mr. Stacy laughing happily at them.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Shaking his head, he sets the frame back down and looks back up at the ceiling, letting out a deep, breathy sigh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Karen, what did those messages from Ned and MJ say?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘Ned said, ‘Where you at?’ around 2am, ‘Peter?’ at 2:32am, ‘Did you go home?’ at 3:01am, and ‘Dude’ at 3:49am. MJ sent, ‘Where the fuck are you?’ at 4:27am.’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter has to physically hold back a wince. </span> <span class="s2">I did it again. <em>I really </em></span> <span class="s1">do </span> <span class="s2"><em>fucking suck.</em> </span> <span class="s1">“Text Ned, ‘Sorry for leaving without telling you. I didn’t mean to worry you.’”</span></p><p class="p1"><em> <span class="s2">‘Message sent. Peter, you </span> </em> <span class="s1">do</span> <em> <span class="s2"> realize Ned Leeds will not be satisfied with that reply?’</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, I know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2"> <em>‘... And what would you like to say to MJ?’</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter bit his tongue in thought for a moment before shooting up and off his bed. “Nothing.” He says quickly, almost angrily, “I’m going to the office,” and walks back out the door for the second time that morning.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You look like shit.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Clearly.” Peter answers, running his left hand through his hair as Adam hands a cup of coffee to his right. “What ya got?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I gave you the report yesterday morning.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yeah, </span> <span class="s2">I <em>know</em>. </span> <span class="s1">Nothing new?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Adam pokes his tongue into his cheek in aggravation, “Only our CEO showing up for the first time in over a week, hungover as hell.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter lightly shakes his head in exasperation, “How does everyone </span> <em><span class="s2">know?”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Dude, I can still smell the whiskey on you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I took a shower.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah? Well, then, you needa ‘nother one.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Instead of answering, Peter starts walking to R&amp;D, Adam following. “So what’s this new project they’ve been working on?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Accepting the change of topic, Adam hands Peter a clipboard, “Physics, you’re speciality.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Actually, I prefer chemistry lately—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whatever,” Adam waves him off, picking up his pace to reach the elevator doors before they close, “It’s research into Dr. Banner’s studies. Dr. Kalakov also has some work in it as well,” he presses the floor number once the step into the lift, “Quantum states.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter nods, “That’s promising. How are the other labs doing? And marketing? Did the fix the problem with our stocks?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Stocks are up. Lab 1 needs you to review and sign off for mass production of Pro. 17823. Lab 2’s still working on Pro. Delta. There haven’t been many problems with PR lately, but they’re still having trouble with the identity thing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“I turn 18 in less than a year. Ask them to hold off until then. As for Project Delta— what’s the hold up? They’ve been working on the schematics for weeks! Tell me they’ve at </span> <em><span class="s2">least </span></em> <span class="s1">gotten past that.” Peter pinched the bridge of his nose, already feeling his headache coming back.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Adam didn’t answer right away, Peter sighed (very dramatically) and pressed the button that would take him to the floor lab 2 was on. He needed to check things out. Adam got out on the first stop, a silent agreement between the two that Peter would meet him in R&amp;D when he finished chewing out the newly grads working on Delta.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Speed-walking down the hall towards the lab, Peter realizes these might be the </span> <em><span class="s2">only</span></em> <span class="s1"> scientists in his employment that he hasn’t officially met yet. He hired them as a group— fresh out of Empire State, with the most promising minds of their class. Matt has met them at least once or twice, but Peter pulls their files up on this phone anyways, slowing his pace to give him time to review.<br/>
<br/>
</span></p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s1">Sara Miller; Age 23</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s1">Rue Kelly; Age 23</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s1">John Weinbrandt; Age 24</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong> <span class="s1">Jason “J.T.” Tellier; Age 23</span> </strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <strong>Todrick McCarthy; Age 25</strong><br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a quick look through their background checks, Peter decides to mess with them a little. Stopping right outside the door to Lab 2, he ruffles his hair, pulls his jacket tighter, and barges into the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The five scientists startle and turn to him, but before the can even open their mouths, he’s already asking a question: “What’s faster?” He starts, “The speed of light, or the speed of thought?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The all look at each other before Todrick, Peter notes, speaks up, “Hey, kid. That’s an interesting question, but you should ask your tour guide. Where’s your group?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter knows he’s not being an asshole— but is he aware that they don’t do tours on the weekends? “Answer the question, please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tod seems taken aback by the confidence of this seemingly random teenager. Sharing a look with Sara, who shrugs, and Rue, who decides to speak up next.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing is faster than the speed of light— as far as we know.” She answers nonchalantly, as if she finds herself in this situation everyday.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter smirks, “Right you are, Rue.” She makes a face at him knowing her name, and he thinks to himself: </span> <em><span class="s2">I’ll never not love this part. </span></em> <span class="s1">With every bit the confidence of a CEO, he pushed up his sleeves and started to walk around the room with his hands behind his back. “And technically,” he finishes, “thoughts are the result of small sparks of electricity between neurons, which is </span> <em><span class="s2">much</span></em> <span class="s1"> slower than the speed of light. Right?” He pauses his pacing to stare at them, awaiting an answer from the immensely confused group.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Theoretically...” J.T. speaks for the first time, then under his breath to Sara, </span> <em> <span class="s2">‘who the hell is this kid?’</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Factually,” Peter corrects. He begins walking again, making a full circle, scoping out the work they were doing before he came in. Each of their lab tables were busy and messy. After coming to his conclusions, Peter halts and sticks his hand out, “Nice to you finally meet you. I’m your boss.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">For most, it could practically be seen when the information clicked. They knew and have been told about the CEO from other departments, and have been wondering why he never showed up to </span> <span class="s2"><em>them</em>. </span> <span class="s1">The group almost thought he wasn’t real— a rumor. Todrick and J.T. still seemed skeptical, but the girls were more than happy to greet him as their employer.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How’s project Delta? You guys are significantly behind, but I was never sent an email for guidance on it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">John scrambles to his lab table, picking up the blueprints, “Well, we thought we could figure it out on our own—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter cuts him off with a wave of his hand, “Science is a worldwide group effort. Rafael Bombelli couldn’t have discovered rules for complex arithmetic if Gerolamo Cardano didn’t discover complex numbers. Galileo couldn’t have created the telescope, if Ruldoph didn’t first create the lens. Point is, ask for help. Build off of others’ discoveries and brilliance. It’s an important lesson as well as in life.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods with finality, and the group of five just stand there with wide eyes for a moment. Perhaps surprised by the intelligence and charisma of this seventeen year old kid.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Swallowing hardly, not wanting to disappoint their boss any further (or get showed up by a teenager), John shows him what they have so far. “Project Delta,” he starts, “Core commitments that ensure that gene drive organism field trials are safely implemented, transparent, publicly accountable and scientifically, politically and socially robust. We started, obviously, with CRISPR-Cas9 gene editing technology.” John looks at Peter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Obviously,” he nods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sara picks up where John left off, “But, the research has progressed so rapidly with gene drive that we’re at a point when we really need to take a step back and think about the application of it and how it will impact humanity.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Commendable,” Peter nods again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sara double-looks at him hesitantly, “We just— we don’t really know how to start with that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter responds almost immediately, “I love the idea, that’s why I approved it. And, I continued to think about it, which is </span> <em><span class="s2">why... </span></em><span class="s1">I have </span> <em><span class="s2">twelve </span></em> <span class="s1">core points that might lead to a solution.” He walks quickly to a dry erase board, and speaks what he’s writing down, “Fair partnership and transparency; product efficacy and safety; regulatory evaluation and risk/benefit assessment; and monitoring and mitigation,” Peter caps the marker turns back around, analyzing their expressions. </span> <em><span class="s2">They don’t know what I mean. </span></em> <span class="s1">“I’ll elaborate. I’ll set up some trial sites and some meetings with gene drive experts from Stark Industries.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Wait— </span> <span class="s2">Stark Industries? </span> <span class="s1">That’s </span> <em><span class="s2">crazy</span></em> <span class="s1"> I mean—“</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter cuts Rue off, “There are multiple flavors of gene drives so it's really hard for a non-specialist to understand what you’re talking about. There’s a few at SI.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“But it’s a </span> <em><span class="s2">really </span></em> <span class="s1">big company... I mean, it could take </span> <span class="s2">months</span> <span class="s1"> before we get a meeting date...”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">J.T continues after Todrick trails off, “It would be </span> <em><span class="s2">amazing </span></em> <span class="s1">to talk to the experts over there... but, a collaboration with SI? We’re just a small New York company— no offense.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“None taken.” Peter watches them all again, gaging their uneasiness. </span> <span class="s2"><em>They don’t believe for a second a teenager can set this up</em>. </span> <span class="s1">With a bite of his tongue, Peter let’s his ego slip out. “I met Tony Stark for breakfast this morning,” he smirks, “He’s in a meeting right now, so I’ll call him later today. Get your notes together and prepare for a meeting with specialists </span><span class="s2"><em>this week.</em></span> <span class="s1"> It shouldn’t be a problem.” He sends them a tight light smile at their incredulous faces and promptly pulls his sleeves back down, then walks back out the door.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Peter makes his way down the hall, he smirks again at overhearing them whisper as soon as the door swings shut.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘What the fuck just happened?’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘Does that kid really know Stark? Who the hell are we working for?’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“And R&amp;D is working on Quantum states— more specifically, one-dimensional Majorana zero energy modes. </span> <span class="s2"><em>Which</em>, </span> <span class="s1">could have a huge impact on quantum computing.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter, you know I have no idea what the fuck that means”.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">After leaving Alexo, Peter made his way to Sister Margaret’s for dinner. </span> <em><span class="s2">What? It’s not </span></em><span class="s1">just </span><em><span class="s2">a bar. </span></em> <span class="s1">Wade was sat on his right while Matt sat on his left with face pulled deeply in confusion.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“You have to at least </span> <em><span class="s2">pretend </span></em> <span class="s1">to know. The board literally made notes on how out of place you seemed to feel.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Matt threw a fry at him, “I’m a </span> <em><span class="s2">lawyer!”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter caught the fry in midair and opened his mouth to respond before getting cut off by Wade, who was lowly raising his hand at the bartender. “Hey, Kelly! Can I get a Fuck You?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Leaning his head back, Peter asked a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to, “And that’s for... who?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Glad you asked Petey! This will be going from—“ he point at a big man with facial hair and a million tattoos, “Unicorn, to,” then pointed at a burly looking woman who had her dirty blonde hair tied up into the tightest ponytail Peter has ever seen, “Sasha.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter laughed out loud while Matt dropped his head to the table with a thud. “You’re gonna get him killed!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know!” Wade responds excitedly then shushes Peter, who definitely wasn’t even talking.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Overhearing the conversation, Kelly rolls her eyes and puts the drink on a tray, sauntering over to Sasha. Peter and Wade watch intently as she sets it down at her table and explains, “This is from Unicorn,” pointing at the man who was laughing with his friends— which, didn’t look particularly good for his case.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Immediately, Sasha stands up and bangs on the table, “NO, FUCK </span> <span class="s2"><em>YOU</em>, </span> <span class="s1">ASSHOLE!”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The bar quiets, but not because there was tension. Instead, everyone sat on the edge of their seats, ready for a show. Wade bumps Peter with his elbow and whispers almost inaudible, <em>“They used to date.” </em>Peter has to cover his mouth to keep a snort of laughter from bubbling up.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s2">“Me?” </span></em> <span class="s1">Unicorn asks suspiciously.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Yes, </span> <em><span class="s2">you.” </span></em> <span class="s1">Sasha quickly makes her way over to the table, and without any equivocation, socks poor old Unicorn square in the face, sending him flying with her super strength. The man falls into a table of mercenaries, who aren’t too happy about getting their drinks spilled. So, a full on bar fight breaks out.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And Peter and Wade just laugh wildly, banging the table with their hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You two are unbelievable,” Matt groans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wade goes on to tell Matt he, in fact, is the unbelievable one for not finding it funny, when Peter’s attention is caught by the pinging of his phone. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"><strong> <span class="s3">Acadec<br/>
</span> </strong> <em>Sally Avril, MJ, Ned Noodle, Flash Dash, Cindy, Betty Boop, &amp; 3 more</em></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <strong>MJ</strong> </span>
</p><p class="p1">Meet was moved up to this Wednesday. Emergency practice on Tuesday. If you miss, you’re benched and Flash will take your place.<br/>
<br/>
</p><p class="p2">
  <strong>Betty</strong>
</p><p class="p2">omg is that even allowed?</p><p class="p2">
  <strong><br/>
Sally</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">how can they do that?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong><br/>
Flash</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">looks like I’ll be be there Wednesday </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <strong><br/>
Jason</strong>
</p><p class="p2">
  <span class="s3">y? Is sum1 not coming?</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <strong><br/>
MJ</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Jason. sum is the answer to an addition problem, not a pronoun. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <strong><br/>
Jason</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">whatever </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2">
  <strong>Flash</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">yah. there’s no way parkers coming</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"><span class="s1">At the mention of his name, Peter noticed the chat went uncharacteristically quiet. </span> <em><span class="s2">Why?</span></em></p>
<hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <strong>Peter</strong> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">I haven’t missed a practice all season?</span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <strong><br/>
Flash</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">michelle r u seriously not going to kick him off the team wtf</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s3"><br/>
</span> <strong>Peter</strong></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> what’s that supposed to mean? </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <strong><br/>
Sally</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">what’s going on?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <strong><br/>
Peter</strong>
</p><p class="p1">^^</p><p class="p2">
  <strong><br/>
Ned</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">leave it alone flash. peter will be there. isn’t that right peter?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> <strong><br/>
Peter</strong> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3"> ofc </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <strong><br/>
MJ</strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">Call me. </span>
</p><p class="p2">
  <strong><br/>
Flash </strong>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s3">yeah fuck u dickwad</span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p>
<hr/><p class="p1"><span class="s1">And suddenly everything from the night before came rushing back. </span> <em><span class="s2">Oh my fucking god. They know.</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Peter? You okay?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wade nods at Matt, foreignly serious, “You look kind of pale.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Peter just stares at them before his phone goes off, MJ’s contact name making an appearance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I... I have to, to take this,” he blinks slowly, “I’ll talk to you guys tomorrow,” then clicks the answer button on his way to the door.<br/>
<br/>
</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘Peter?’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">MJ hears the click of the call being picked up and then the direct commotion coming from the other line. It sounds like... glass shattering, and, <em>shouting</em></span><em><span class="s2">?</span></em> <span class="s1"> “Peter?” A second later, a door slams and the noise is cut off. “Where the hell are you?”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">A deep sigh makes it way through the speakers, </span> <em><span class="s2">‘Hey, MJ.’</span></em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Peter</span> <span class="s2"><em>.</em> <em>What. The. Fuck.”</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s2">‘I know; I know— I can explain.’</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“Explain </span> <em><span class="s2">what?” </span></em><span class="s2">She spits; </span><span class="s1">all the confusion and anger Michelle Jones has felt for nearly twenty four hours starts pulling in her stomach and feeding her adrenaline. “Do you have </span> <em><span class="s2">any </span></em> <span class="s1">idea what I’ve been hearing? That you were doing </span> <em><span class="s2">drugs? </span></em> <span class="s1">That you were drunk off your ass? That you were starting fights? That you went home with someone you don’t even <em>kn—“</em></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Peter cuts her off,<em> ‘</em></span> <em><span class="s2">You have </span> <span class="s1">no</span> <span class="s2"> right to be mad at me for that! </span></em> <span class="s1">Harry Osborn?</span> <em> <span class="s2"> Are you </span> </em> <span class="s1">fucking</span> <em> <span class="s2"> kidding me?’</span> </em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">MJ flinches back as if she’d been slapped across the face. Sucking her lips into her mouth, her anger dissipates a little as she runs a hand down her face. Looking to the right, she watches silently as Harry naps on her couch. The embarrassment and disappointment in herself lasting for only a second, “So what? What about him?” She asks, “Don’t act like you know him because of the media,” she finishes angrily.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2"><em>‘Don’t act like I—? MJ!,’</em> </span> <span class="s1">Peter laughs darkly, making MJ flinch again, <em>‘YOU don’t know him! He’s a liar, a cheater! A cynical little—‘</em></span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">“AND YOU’RE NOT? </span> <em><span class="s2">Don’t </span></em> <span class="s1">turn this around on </span> <span class="s2"><em>me</em>, </span> <span class="s1">Peter!”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the yelling, Harry stirs from a few feet away. Blinking awake and meeting MJ’s gaze. “Hey. What’s with all the yelling?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s2">‘Is he fucking </span> <span class="s1">there?</span><span class="s2">’ </span></em> <span class="s1">Peter asks exasperatedly, chuckling again, </span><em><span class="s2">‘Unbelievable,’</span></em><span class="s2"> he scoffs,</span><em><span class="s2"> ‘He’s a </span></em><span class="s1">bad </span><em><span class="s2">guy, MJ.’</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah? Well, I’m starting to think that maybe you are too.” She answers with a huff, running her hands through her hair. Harry furrows his eyebrows. “I’ll see you Tuesday, Peter.” And she hangs up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was Peter?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Unfortunately.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Harry nods slowly. “What’s up with that guy? Sounds like problem.” He sits up and continues in a sarcastic voice, but tries to convey a slight seriousness of sincerity, “Want me to fight him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">MJ laughs and lightly pushes his shoulder, “I can take care of </span> <span class="s2"><em>myself</em></span><span class="s1">, but thanks.”</span></p><p class="p1"><br/>
<em>Peter never once denied anything.</em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yooo this jumped around SO much and I am SO sorry but there’s a ton of characters we haven’t seen for a while and I wanted to give them some light here :) </p><p>Sorry again for taking so long— school and ✨depression✨ have been kicking my ass </p><p>Y’all it’s the *way* that I have equally as many plans for this story as I have none. Which uh, doesn’t make sense but idkkk it’s like I’m trying to fit every possible trope in this— which? I will :) lol it’s my only plan so looks like I got a lot ahead of me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. NOT AN UPDATE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>sooooo....</p><p>for... no.... particular reason....</p><p>.........<br/>
....</p><p>a field trip to Alexo? Or a field trip to SI?</p><p> </p><p>totally a hypothetical question...</p><p>jw</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Alright I went thru the 60 comments and tallied it up! </p><p>Alexo: 20 votes<br/>SI: 5 votes <br/>Both: 16 votes </p><p>It was close 👀 but it looks like we’re going with Alexo :) </p><p>ʷʰᵒ ᵏⁿᵒʷˢ ᵐᵃʸᵇᵉ ᶦ’ˡˡ ᵈᵒ ᵇᵒᵗʰ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉˡˡ ᵒᶠ ᶦᵗ</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. It’s Not Your Fault.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Word count: 3339</p><p>Whewww LONG TIME NO SEE! HEY Y’ALL! </p><p>alright. this is gonna be heavy. do this for me, okay? think about this chapter. feel it. let it break the forth wall and take what applies to you. </p><p>it’s a special little episode where you can see the thought process of peter, and I can also explain a *tiny bit* as the author. It’s kind of a little recap/intermission too</p><p> </p><p>Oh, and watch Goodwill Hunting if you haven’t already :) it’s art</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">“So, Peter, tell me a bit about yourself. What are your hobbies? How do you like school? Do you have a job?”</span> </em>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter is in therapy. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">He never thought he’d go, especially after denying it for years. But, May brought it up a couple times after Ben died, and Peter thought maybe he’d finally give it a try. For her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And maybe because Tony mentioned it helping a little after his own parents’ deaths (though he would never admit it again).</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">It’s not like Peter’s </span> <em><span class="s1">proud</span></em> <span class="s2"> of who he’s become. He knows he’s falling off the deep end. He knows he’s disappointing everyone he’s ever loved.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">And so, Peter thought’d he’d try out therapy. If not, to keep him out of having to go to rehab.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">It’s a credible enough science, </span></em> <span class="s2">Peter assures himself</span><span class="s1">, <em>if I hate it, or find it totally useless, I won’t go back. Easy.</em></span></p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter is having second thoughts. </span> <em><span class="s1">What can she really tell me that I don’t already know? </span></em> <span class="s2">But he positions himself comfortably on the couch, plasters on a smile, and answers the questions earnestly anyways.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I’m into modern technology. Things like mechanical engineering and mathematical sciences. School’s alright. It’s easy. And I have a job. I work at a tech shop.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Ms. Opel, the counselor he scheduled himself an appointment with only a day prior, smiled. She has beautifully white teeth, and an equally beautiful appearance. Roxanne “Rocky” Opel wore checkered pants and an oversized black shirt today, which contrasted perfectly with her fire-truck-red hair. She seemed cool. She specializes in troubled teens, and Peter thought if he’d given anyone a shot, Rocky would be the least annoying.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“How about friends?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I have two close ones. Ned and MJ. I’ve known them both for years.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“And you get along well?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Of course. I’d do anything for Ned, and MJ deserves the world.” Peter adverts his gaze for a moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Rocky takes notice of his apprehension, but saves it for later. “Okay, Peter. Let’s talk about why you’re here today. What’s troubling you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"><em>What’s </em>troubling<em> me? Where the fuck do I start?</em> </span> <span class="s2">“Um...</span> <span class="s1">”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Just be as honest as you can. I can’t help you if you don’t want me to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <em>Honest... okay. </em> </span> <span class="s2">“I don’t know where to start.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Rocky nodded her head and flashed an assuring smile. “Would a timeline help?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter shrugged.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Let’s start from the beginning then. Have you always lived in New York City?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p2">“What are you parents like? How were they when you were little compared to now?”</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“They were nice when I was little. Really loving. We had the best little family,” Peter started, with an artificial nostalgic gleam in his eyes. Rocky nodded again, still smiling. “Now they’re dead.” He couldn’t help it. He laughed. The surprise on her face at the outward answer was too good.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Rocky schooled her expression and wrote something down on her notepad. Peter wiped the smile off his face in favor or trying to peak.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">She clicked her tongue. “How did they die?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Plane crash,” Peter shrugged, “I was, like, six.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">She wrote something else down. “And who took you after?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Suddenly a little uncomfortable, Peter shifted and looked down. “My Uncle Ben and Aunt May.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Are they good people?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“...Yeah. The best.” Peter’s nostalgia was real this time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Do you still live with them?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“No.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"><span class="s2">When Peter didn’t elaborate, Rocky raised her eyebrows as if to say, </span> <em><span class="s1">‘Why not?’</span></em></p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"><em>This is... getting heavier than I thought it would.</em> </span> <span class="s2">Peter’s shoulders sag. </span> <em><span class="s1">Is this really gonna do anything? </span></em> <span class="s2">It’s a long moment before he answers. He didn’t want to be pitied. </span> <em><span class="s1">Why does this matter anyways?</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Peter?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“They died too.” He knew he was going to be asked to explain, so before she could open her mouth, he did. “Ben was shot in a robbery gone wrong over on twenty-first and second—the summer before my freshman year of high school. I saw it all. May died... she um, she was—“ Peter shuffled again and labored his breathing, “she was hit by a drunk driver. Sophomore year.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter immediately looked up at Rocky, readying himself for that stupid puppy-look he always got from people who knew. But he didn’t get it. Instead, she was writing again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">So he continued, “I lost my girlfriend, Gwen, over the summer. June 17th.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">When Rocky finished writing, she took a deep breath, and finally met Peter’s eyes. “And how have you coped? Remember, be honest. Had you been healthy... you wouldn’t be here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">It almost made him mad, the way she assumed. Or maybe it was because she was right.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">Should I tell her? </span></em> <span class="s2">Peter started tapping his foot. “This is all confidential right? You can’t tell anyone?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Not unless you’re a danger to yourself or others. Are you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“No.” Peter chuckles, “But I guess everyone says that, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You’d be surprised.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><em><span class="s1">Can’t help unless I’m honest, huh? Fine. </span></em> <span class="s2">“I started doing benzoylmethylecgonine.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">She was quiet for a moment. “I see you </span> <em><span class="s1">do </span></em> <span class="s2">like your science,” she smiled, “</span><em><span class="s1">cocaine, </span></em><span class="s2">then?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah, but, I mean, I’m not <em>addicted</em>... or anything. You don’t have to call anybody. I don’t do it anymore.” Peter scrambled, instantly regretting his honesty.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“When was the last time you did it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"><em>Fuck</em>. </span> <span class="s2">Peter looked away again. </span><em> <span class="s1">I can’t admit it. She’ll try send me away. This was a mistake.</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Again, Peter. Be truthful.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">What the fuck? Can she read my fucking mind?</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Rocky takes a deep breath when she is met with silence again. “You know, some studies show that therapy is actually more affective than rehab. It’s all about finding the root of the addiction and dissecting it, rather than throwing someone in an institute to get them to quit to by force.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter debates this. <em>Is she saying she won’t send me away if I talk?</em></span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">The teenager has prided himself with his abilities so psychoanalyze and manipulate people on more than one account. He even read Natasha fucking Romanov. </span> <em><span class="s1">So why... why can’t I get a read on her? Is it because I’m not focused enough?</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">At this point, Peter feels himself giving in. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Friday... that’s a big reason of why I’m here.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Rocky nodded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Back to our conversation from earlier—“ Peter lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relieved that she didn’t expand on it for now, “who’s taking care of you now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“My cousin. Angela Rodriguez.” He’s responds quickly, already holding his breath again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">She writes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Can you tell me about your aunt May?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I...”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Have you talked about her? Since it happened?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Only... only to Gwen.” He swallows harshly. “May, she...” Peter peaks at Rocky. She’s put her notepad down and crossed her hands on top of it, giving her full attention. So, he takes a deep breath and closes his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">May...</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“She was a terrible cook,” he laughs as he begins, “which, Ben and I always thought was ridiculous for a determined Italian woman like her. She was always smoking up the entire apartment. But, she tried. And we didn’t have the heart to tell her,” Peter smiles warmly at the memory, “She was always there for me. Gave me girl advice right before my very first homecoming. And was the strongest woman I’ve ever known. Didn’t take shit from </span> <span class="s1"><em>anybody</em>. </span> <span class="s2">If you pissed her off, you’d wanna book the next flight to London as soon as possible. And... she stayed strong— after Ben died. Worked the graveyard shift at the hospital, and covered as many people as she could just so I’d have food on the table. And May was unbelievably understanding and kind. Really stressed the ‘Golden Rule.’” Peter swallowed hard, “When I told her... that it was</span> <span class="s1"> <em>my fault... </em></span> <span class="s2">that Ben got shot... all she did was hug me. And we cried.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter heard scribbling, so he opened his eyes for a second to see Rocky writing again. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“She was on her way to pick me up from school when it happened. Which is,” he chuckles darkly this time, “</span><em><span class="s1">incredibly </span></em> <span class="s2">ironic. </span> <span class="s1">Ben </span> <span class="s2">was supposed to be picking me up from the </span> <em><span class="s1">library </span></em> <span class="s2">when </span> <span class="s1"><em>he</em> died,” </span> <span class="s2">his voice lowers to a whisper, “and Gwen was supposed to be waiting by the car...”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Rocky contemplated what to say. What to ask. Peter could see the hesitation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Do you have flashbacks, Peter? Like sometimes you feel like you’re there, living it all over again? Maybe in a dream, or when you hear a loud noise?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah, exactly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Do you know what ptsd is?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Of course. And I know I have it. And I know I’m depressed, and I know I’m reckless, and I know I’m sick. But why does knowing matter? I know a lot of things, even things I </span> <em><span class="s1">shouldn’t </span></em> <span class="s2">know. And it’s never helped me.” Peter answers with a fast pace.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“You’ve never </span> <em><span class="s1">wanted </span></em> <span class="s2">help. And </span> <em><span class="s1">I </span></em> <span class="s2">know </span> <em><span class="s1">that.” </span></em> <span class="s2">She answered shortly.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You kinda remind of May,” Peter blurts.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“How so?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The heat that was building in the conversation quickly dissolved. For a second, at least. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“You don’t treat me like a damaged kid. Even though I am.” Peter relaxes, not waiting for an answer as he slides down into a laying position on the couch, his head resting on the arm of it.“I might as well tell you what </span> <em><span class="s1">I </span></em> <span class="s2">see, based on the psych books you’ve read, before you tell me</span> <em><span class="s1"> your </span></em> <span class="s2">point of view,” he snarks. “I see an orphan who’s trying to forget. To forget his dead girlfriend, his parents, his aunt and uncle, and the guilt on his shoulders that he won’t address. And so, he lashes out, and he does drugs, and he drinks, and he can’t identify his own emotions anymore because he’s been pushing them down for too long. He’s reckless with his own safety at night, and he’s reckless with how he treats his body, because at this point he’s practically given up. He doesn’t care if he lives or dies. He doesn’t try in </span> <em><span class="s1">school</span></em><span class="s2"><em>,</em> because he’s </span> <span class="s1"><em>bored</em></span><span class="s2">. He knows just about everything when it comes to the real world, and he knows everything high school has to offer, but won’t apply himself to a university because he’s </span> <span class="s1"><em>scared</em>. </span> <span class="s2">He says he’s going to change, but he never does, because forgetting is </span> <em><span class="s1">easy. </span></em><span class="s2">And so he’ll do </span> <em><span class="s1">anything</span> <span class="s2"> to </span> <span class="s1">forget</span><span class="s2">.”</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Rocky purses her lips. “Are you done?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Seems like it, doesn’t it?” Peter challenges</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Is it my turn?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“If you can tell me something I don’t already know.” He waves her off, clearly not expecting to hear an ounce of intellect. </span> <em><span class="s1">I was right. This is a waste of my time.</span></em></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Alright. It’s not your fault.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter freezes and open his eyes. He stares at her. </span> <em><span class="s1">What? </span></em> <span class="s2">“I said tell me something I </span> <em><span class="s1">don’t </span></em> <span class="s2">know.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“I’m saying it </span> <em><span class="s1">because</span></em> <span class="s2"> you don’t.” The notepad had been placed on the table next to her chair across the room. Rocky was looking at him intently, but at the same time, blankly. “You </span> <span class="s1"><em>don’t</em> </span> <span class="s2">know. It’s </span> <span class="s1"><em>not</em> </span> <span class="s2">your fault. And it’s important you learn that. It’s not your fault.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Suddenly, Peter is sitting up straight and starting right back, “How can </span> <em><span class="s1">you </span></em> <span class="s2">know that? Everything I haven’t told you about me, you read from a textbook.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Then should I tell you a little bit about me?” She didn’t leave any room for a response, “My name is Roxanne Opel. My father was a drunk. A mean one. My mother was kind, but she wasn’t strong. She left. I took care of my little brother, Shaun, as best I could at eleven years old. And, I’m smart, too. I thought </span> <span class="s1">I </span> <span class="s2">knew everything.” She takes a second to regain herself after speaking to quick. “Until Shaun was beaten to death.” She paused, still staring at Peter, “I bounced around Foster homes until I graduated high school at 17. I earned my masters degree in psychology at 22, and then I learned something </span> <span class="s1">else</span> <span class="s2">. It’s not </span> <em><span class="s1">my </span></em> <span class="s2">fault. </span> <em><span class="s1">I</span></em> <span class="s2"> didn’t do it. Did you?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I— I didn’t know. I... I’m sorry—“</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“How could you’ve? I’m only just now telling you. Wasn’t that your point?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter was silent.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“It’s not your fault.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">He closes his eyes again, willing the stinging behind his eyes to stop. “You... you really </span> <em><span class="s1">do, </span></em> <span class="s2">remind me of May.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I’ll take that as a compliment.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You should.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Do you understand me, Peter?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Yeah. I- I think so.”<br/></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">”it’s not your fault, kid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">The clock on the wall ticked for a about three minutes until Rocky spoke up again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“You wanna tell me what happened between you and MJ? We still have time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter looks at her strangely. “How did you know something happened?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Are we going to go on another tangent on how we know all that we know?” She smirks.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter smiled a little and rolled his eyes, “Yeah, I guess not.” Fiddling with his fingers, he explains, “You know academic decathlons?” She nods. “Yeah, I’m on the team at Midtown Tech. MJ’s the leader. And there was this party on Friday— she wanted us all to go. To like, ‘destress,’ or whatever. Anyways... I </span> <em><span class="s1">knew </span></em> <span class="s2">I shouldn’t go. It’s all I did when Gwen died, and look where that got me, y’know? But, it was tempting. And I didn’t tell them that I shouldn’t.So I went. And I made... some really bad choices—“</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Your relapse,” Rocky provides.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Yeah. It’s where I relapsed. I’d been clean for months, but... honestly, I don’t know what got into me. I mean, I was drunk, right? But—“ Peter sighs, “It’s more than that. All night, </span> <em><span class="s1">all night, </span></em> <span class="s2">I had been so careful to not ask. I </span> <em><span class="s1">knew</span></em> <span class="s2"> who to ask, and all night I didn’t. And then I saw MJ with an old friend, Harry. We had a really serious falling out the summer before high school, and then he moved away. And when I say serious, I’m not exaggerating some middle-school-drama. It was </span> <span class="s1"><em>bad</em>. </span> <span class="s2">And they were... </span> <span class="s1"><em>y’know?</em> </span> <span class="s2">And it made me </span> <span class="s1"><em>sick</em> </span> <span class="s2">to my stomach. I couldn’t even tell you why.” Peter was talking breathily, “Then she called me yesterday. </span> <span class="s1"><em>Really</em></span> <span class="s2"> pissed. It got heated. She didn’t like how I acted all night, reckless as usual,” he joked, “and I didn’t like her with Harry. She doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t even know we used to be friends. And, sure, maybe I should tell her and Ned, but for some reason, Harry isn’t telling either. I’m convinced he’s up to something, i just don’t know </span> <span class="s1"><em>what</em>.” </span> <span class="s2">Peter shakes his head to regather his thoughts, “But, yeah. We both said some things and, it’s not gonna blow over like it used to. We aren’t as close as we were when we were younger, and we’re nowhere near the same people we were either.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Rocky nodded her head for a while, thinking, before speaking up. “You wanna know what I think?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“What?” Peter surprised himself. He actually </span> <em><span class="s1">did </span></em> <span class="s2">want to know.</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“You ever consider that you might </span> <span class="s1">like</span> <span class="s2"> MJ?”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Hm? Of course I like her. She’s one of my best friends.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“No. </span> <span class="s1"><em>Like</em> </span> <span class="s2">her.”</span></p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Like her like... like </span> <em><span class="s1">Gwen? </span></em> <span class="s2">That’d be... that’d be pretty </span> <span class="s1">shitty </span> <span class="s2">of me, wouldn’t it? I mean, she only died like five </span> <span class="s1">months</span> <span class="s2"> ago...”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <em> <span class="s1">I can’t say I considered it.</span> </em>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Tell me more about your relationship with Gwen.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter pulled his shins up to his chest and rested the side of his face on his left knee. “It was good? I don’t know what else to say. We got along great. We went on dates like ice cream and movies, and we never really had any serious fights. Her mom loved me, her dad... and I didn’t really get along at first, but we worked it out in the end.” He turned his head to rest on his right knee, “You remember the news on commissioner Stacy?” Rocky nodded. “He was her father.” Peter let that sit for a second before continuing, “He told me to take care of her the day he died. So, I think you can understand why losing her hurt so much more.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Do I have to tell you again? It’s not your fault.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter cocked his neck in an effort to keep his emotions at bay, then finished. “We were in love. I’d never met someone like her, and haven’t still since.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“And you think because you guys were good, and because she’s gone now, and because you made a promise her father— you can’t like MJ?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Well, yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What if I told you I don’t think that’s true?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I’d tell you psychology isn’t actually mind-reading.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Rocky offers a side smile and crosses her legs, “Friendly advice from a woman?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Go ahead.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“We know how boys think.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Oh, yeah?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I was a teenager too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“Oh, really? I thought you might’ve </span> <span class="s1"><em>always</em></span> <span class="s2"> been twenty-two.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Shut it,” Rocky smiles kindly at Peter.</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">And weirdly, it feels like in just this hour, the two of them have become a semblance of friends. </span> <span class="s1"><em>What a roller coaster. Is this normal?</em></span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“I don’t think you’re being honest with yourself, Peter.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>How could she possibly—</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“About what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Tell me about MJ.”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">Peter breathes in through is nose and looks at the clock. </span> <em><span class="s1">How has it only been forty-five minutes? </span></em> <span class="s2"> “She’s... she’s MJ,” he shrugs, “she’s smart as hell. And, </span> <em><span class="s1">opinionated</span></em> <span class="s2">— in the best way possible. She stands up for what she believes in, and she doesn’t give a fuck about what other people think about her.” An unknowing smile creeps onto Peter’s face, “She sucks at opening up, and she’s always, always, reading. She calls me and Ned losers, but, that’s kind of how she shows affection? I don’t now. She’s cool.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter cuts off his rambling when he meets Rocky Opel’s gaze, who had a knowing smile gracing her lips. Feeling like he had been caught (in what, he didn’t know), Peter blushed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Do you know the difference, or do I have to explain it to you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“What difference.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Rocky uncrossed her legs and sighed. Shaking her head, she asked, “Did you feel nervous around Gwen at first? Was it hard it hard to ask her out?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Well, duh.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Do you get a weird feeling in your stomach when you look at MJ? Like you’re gonna throw up?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Do I?</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Peter imagined her toffee brown curls laying on her golden shoulders. And the green flakes in her dark eyes. And the way she smiled when he did something stupid. And the way she looked when she focused on a new book during lunch. And the way her laugh sounded. He started to blush again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">Before Rocky could call him out on it, Peter spoke up, “You’re right. I didn’t tell you everything about me and Gwen.” He pulled his eyebrows together and looked down, swallowing with difficultly again. “I was... I was going to break up with her.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“When?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“I-it’d just been on my mind. I’m not, I’m really- I have bad luck. With... y’know, people I care about. I didn’t want anything to happen to her. And sometimes, I’d— I’d </span> <span class="s1"><em>look</em></span> <span class="s2"> at her, and,” Peter choked and cleared his throat, “I’d look at her, and think, maybe, we were better as friends. There wasn’t, I don’t know. That </span> <em><span class="s1">spark </span></em> <span class="s2">people talk about in movies. And I thought,” he pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezed his eyes shut, and forced it out, “I thought maybe I didn’t love her like she loved me. Maybe she thought the same— I have no idea. I wanted to wait, to think about it and figure it out, but she was </span> <span class="s1">gone</span> <span class="s2"> before I had a</span> <em><span class="s1"> chance </span></em> <span class="s2">to. And, and— I- I couldn’t, I couldn’t </span> <em><span class="s1">save </span></em> <span class="s2">her—“ He rushes.</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“—So when you look at MJ, you feel guilty.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“... Yeah. I guess. I don’t know.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“Maybe that’s part of why you were so upset when you saw her with Harry, hmm?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“But, Harry—“</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“You were </span> <span class="s1"><em>jealous,</em> </span> <span class="s2">Peter. And that’s okay. It’s a perfectly normal human emotion, one that’s especially hard to control. </span> <span class="s1"><em>Even if</em> </span> <span class="s2">you’re used to hiding how you feel,” she gives him a look, “and you definitely can’t control you’re heart. I’m not saying you’re completely </span> <em><span class="s1">enamored</span></em> <span class="s2"> and in </span> <em><span class="s1">love</span></em> <span class="s2"> with MJ, but it’s something you should think about. You need to start confronting your emotions.”</span></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s2">“... How do I even do that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s2">“You need to stop distracting yourself all the time. You need to stop scheduling extra shifts, stop buying more alcohol, stop getting high, stop ignoring your friends</span><span class="s1">, </span> <span class="s2">stop staring at your phone and computer screen, stop saying you’re ‘fine.’ </span> <span class="s1">Stop trying to forget.”</span></p><p class="p2">
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p class="p2">
  <em>It’s not your fault. You are who you are. Things are how they are. It’s not your fault. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>we wouldn’t all be on here, especially not a fic like this, if we were mentally stable, now would we? let’s all take some of rocky’s advice </p><p>love you guys. take care of yourselves.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. NOT AN UPDATE</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Yuhhh what’s up guys I just wanted to let y’all know that story isn’t discontinued :) I’m really behind in school because I had covid last month— I’m trying to make graduation despite my <em>relentless</em> procrastination lol</p><p>i graduate on May 18th assuming I catch up (and I will! <em>Fuck</em> you VP <em>Ashley</em> Harrigan!) </p><p> </p><p>Look forward to a weekly continuation following that date :) so until then— I’m putting this on a three week MAX hiatus</p><p> </p><p>Chapter 23 has 3478 words already, but I want to give you guys something long asf and something I can be proud of, so please wait for me haha love you and thank you for reading!!!!</p>
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